


The New Teacher

by mmaree



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Adult Content, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Blindfolds, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Zayn, Coercion, Daddy Kink, Dark Liam, Dark Louis Tomlinson, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Innocent Zayn, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mentor/Protégé, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mystery, No Spoilers, Non-Graphic Violence, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Shakespeare, Sex Toys, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Suspense, Voyeurism, Zayn's 22 and Liam's like 28 jsyk, Ziall Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 81,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmaree/pseuds/mmaree
Summary: Being a novice teacher is tough, but being a novice teacher at Payne Academy is even tougher.  Fortunately for Zayn, the other teachers on the staff seem friendly enough…at first.***Or the one where Zayn’s dream job slowly turns into his worst nightmare.  And his worst nightmare may or may not be named Dr. Payne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite/reimagining of a chaptered fic I wrote for another website a while back. This story is set in a fictional town in New England. The school system is American and so is Zayn/all original characters. The rest of the boys are English/Irish accordingly because that's how I roll, lmao. 
> 
> Please be warned that there are some dark themes in here. Please read the tags, but if you have any specific questions/triggers, let me know and I'll do my best to address them.
> 
> Enjoy! ;) ~Maree
> 
>    
> [](http://photobucket.com/)  
> 

 

“We’re going to miss you, sweetie,” Zayn’s mom sniffed, hugging him close.  “I can’t believe my little baby just graduated and is off to start a new job in a completely different part of the state.  You know, you can still change your mind if you—”

“I heard that, Tricia,” Zayn’s dad admonished playfully.  “Our boy gets his dream job, an opportunity of a lifetime, and here you are trying to convince him to throw it away just so he can be closer to home!  You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I know, it’s just that he’ll be _hours_ from us, Yaser,” she complained to her husband, brushing off the make-up she left behind on her son’s shirt.  “He’s never been away from home for more than a night—even throughout college.  What if something happens?  What if he’s unhappy and wants to come home like he did that time at camp?”

“Honey, he was ten.  I don’t think he has night terrors anymore.”  

Zayn couldn’t help but blush at the embarrassing memory.  “Mom, I’ll be fine,” he reassured her with a confidence he’d been trying on for size recently.  “I promise.”

The thing was Zayn’s mom was right:  he’d never spent more than a night away from home, even throughout college.  He was extremely sheltered; he knew that.  His parents were perfect—if a little over-protective of their only child at times—and he was raised in a perfect neighbourhood in a perfect town.  There was nothing more he could have asked for growing up, and he appreciated everything life had plopped in his lap. 

Even now, it seemed life couldn’t get any better.  He had landed his dream job right out of college—a teaching job at Payne Academy, one of the most prestigious private schools in the country.  He couldn’t believe his luck when he was offered a position in the history department.  History and education were his passions and being able to teach at a school like Payne Academy was an incredible opportunity.  The only thing that made the job even sweeter was the fact that his best friend would also be teaching at the school.

“And don’t forget,” Yaser reminded his wife, “Niall will be there with Zayn.  He won’t let anything happen to our little boy, right Niall?”

“Of course, Mr. Malik,” Niall replied with an easy smile.  “I’ll take good care of Zayn and make sure he doesn’t get into _too_ much trouble.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to watch him like a hawk,” Yaser laughed, playing along.  “I still remember those rough days when he was a teenager.  Well, you were there, too, Niall.  You saw all of his wayward behaviour first-hand.  Remember the time he came home a mere five minutes before his curfew?”

“Or the time when he asked me to give him a ride to _that_ side of town…so he could volunteer in a food kitchen?” Niall joined in.

“Or the time I had to leave work and go to your high school because he won the Human Relations Award?”

“Or that time when he broke his arm during P.E. and said the ‘D’ word?”

“The ‘D’ word?” Yaser questioned, feigning alarm. 

“Yes…‘darn.’  I was shocked and appalled, sir—to say the least,” Niall explained with mock horror.

“And there was the time he scored an 89% on an Honours Bio exam, and we had to console him for hours.  He wouldn’t even eat Trisha’s samosas.”

“Yeah, you definitely know something’s up when Zayn goes off his feed,” Niall chuckled as Zayn rolled his eyes.  He knew better than to interrupt his dad and Niall when they were ganging up on him though.  “Oi, what about the time he bunked off school for a whole week because he had mono, but he insisted I bring his completed assignments to school every day?”

“Or the time when the soccer team TP’d the rival coach’s house the night before the big match, and Zayn wrote an apology letter, then cleaned up the mess at the crack of dawn…”

“…With my help,” Niall added, groaning.  “And we even ended up doing a bit of landscaping for free.”

Yaser erupted into laughter, slapping Niall on the back.  “Didn’t you guys plant a tulip garden on the guy’s front lawn with the West High School colours?”

“Don’t remind me,” Niall moaned.

“And we haven’t even begun to talk about Zayn’s wild _college_ days….”

“Enough, you two!” Tricia reprimanded, somehow managing to get a word in edgewise.  Yaser and Niall got along famously—so famously that Zayn half-suspected his dad wished Niall was _more_ than Zayn’s best friend.  True, Niall and him had been inseparable since they met in the fifth grade, right after Niall and his family moved from Ireland.  Zayn would never forget that awkward, unsolicited “talk” a few years back where his dad explained that he’d love and accept his son no matter whom he loved.  His dad didn’t go so far as to mention Niall’s name, but Zayn could read between the lines.  Yaser, he knew, would take Niall as a son-in-law in a heartbeat, but what father wouldn’t?  Niall was smart, funny, charming, and grounded.  Unfortunately for Zayn’s dad though, the two best mates didn’t like each other that way…at all. 

“Ready, Zeddy?” Niall kidded, blue eyes expectant.  Zayn nodded in return before helping his father load the last suitcase into Niall’s Volkswagen Golf. 

Niall brushed a damp strand of hair away from his forehead before carefully closing the trunk.  The compact, white hatchback was so jam-packed, Zayn wondered how Niall was going to be able to see out of the rear-view mirror during the long drive upstate.  It was a good thing they had loaded up the U-Haul last week when they paid the first month’s rent and security deposit for their cosy (tiny) two-bedroom apartment near the school.  It would be worlds apart from the spacious, comfortable houses they’d grown up in, but they were ready to be on their own.

“You could always stay for lunch, boys,” Tricia coaxed even though it was still morning and they’d already eaten a full breakfast.  “Niall, you and I could whip up something really quick and—”

“Tricia, let them go already.  You don’t want them driving at night, do you?” Yaser gently scolded her.  Still sniffling, Tricia gave Zayn one last squeeze, then went to say goodbye to Niall. 

Yaser embraced his son with the same strong arms that picked Zayn up when he fell off his bike and skinned his knee, the ones that adjusted his backpack and straightened his tiny shoulders before he walked into his first day of kindergarten.  “I’m going to miss you, beta, but I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of you.  Take care of yourself and call us if you need anything—anything at all.  We’re only a few hours away.”  When they pulled apart, Zayn could see the way his Father’s eyes were red and shiny, and he was sure they mirrored his own.

Zayn was quiet as Niall backed out of the drive, watching as the figures faded away, until he could no longer see the house anymore.  He had spent his entire life in that blue Colonial with the black shutters, and it had given him countless warm, fuzzy memories.  He’d had the happiest of childhoods, but now it was time to start a new chapter in his life. 

“Man, I thought saying goodbye to _my_ parents was rough,” Niall murmured, summer sun beating down on them even after Niall clicked on the AC to full blast.  “That was pure torture.”

“You can say that again.”  Zayn exhaled slowly.  He felt restless, felt like going on a four-mile jog rather than a four-hour drive.  “I thought I was going to lose it, man, when my mom started with the hysterics.”

“Well, I’ll admit for a second there, I was afraid you might change your mind about leaving,” Niall related with a nervous chuckle.  “You had that look on your face, Zed—you know the one I mean.”

“Um…okay.”

Niall guided the car towards the onramp.  “It’s that look you get right before someone guilts you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

“Well, what about you and my dad?” Zayn shot back.  “It didn’t look like you guys were excited about transforming your bromance into a long-distance relationship any time soon.”

Niall smiled impishly.  “Now then, can I help it if your father’s a solid bloke?”

“True,” Zayn agreed.  “But in all seriousness, I’m glad we’re doing this together.  I can’t imagine moving to a new city and starting a new job all by myself.” 

“You were bloody valedictorian, Zed—you could do anything you set your mind to.”

“Alright, I’ll put it this way then:  I wouldn’t _want_ to do this by myself, and I DEFINITELY wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else besides you.”

“Aw, I feel the same way.  I’d rather do it with you than anyone else in the whole world,” Niall replied before laughing at himself.  “And I don’t mean that in the way it sounded because that’s just naff.”

“Yeah, _totally_ gross,” Zayn snorted.  “Like ‘ew’ gross, like used Band-Aid gross, like—”

“Okay, I get it already!” Niall exclaimed, poking the boy in the passenger seat in the ribs.  “You don’t have to completely destroy my self-esteem, you know.  Now, do you fancy turning on some tunes before I shove you out the passenger side?”

“I’m on it,” Zayn chuckled.  He searched the stations and finally settled on Pharrell’s “Happy.”  Niall belted it out as he drove, but the lyrics didn’t quite match the feeling in the pit of Zayn’s stomach so he just gazed out the window at the changing scenery as it flew by at seventy miles-per-hour.

“What’s wrong, Zed?” 

“It’s…it’s nothing.”

“C’mon, tell brother Niall all about it,” he wheedled, resting an arm on his friend’s shoulder.

“It’s dumb.”

“Like this would be the first time you’ve told me something dumb,” Niall teased, ruffling his friend’s hair before placing his hand back on the steering wheel to manoeuvre a curve.  “But for real, tell me what’s eating you, yeah?”

“I guess I’m just feeling a little apprehensive, that’s all.  You know, we’re moving into a new apartment in a new city, and soon we’ll be starting our very first teaching jobs at Payne Academy— _the_ Payne Academy.  It’s just a lot, you know?”

“Of course it is, but let’s look at it as an adventure, yeah?” Niall suggested, saying the right thing at the right time as always.  “It’s going to be brilliant, Zed; I know it is.  So anything else got your knickers in a twist?”

Zayn hesitated for a second, not sure if he should tell Niall the next part because it made him sound even more paranoid and insecure than normal. 

“Zed?”

“Yes…it’s Principal Payne.”  Zayn frowned.  “I-I don’t think he likes me.”

“That’s rubbish, mate,” Niall chided, giving a little shove to Zayn’s shoulder before resting it on the gearshift.  “He wouldn’t have bloody hired you if he didn’t believe you were the most qualified teacher for the job.  He must have seen the gobs of passion and potential you’ve got because you beat out hundreds of experienced teachers for the history position.  Now, what _I’m_ trying to figure out,” he quipped, “is why the bloody hell he hired _me_!  Personally, I’m surprised I even made it past the screening interview for Payne Fecking Academy.”

“You got the job because you’re a culinary genius and everyone likes you,” Zayn responded like it was the easiest answer in the world—which it was.  “I don’t know though…I still can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t like me.”

“I don’t think Payne ‘likes’ anyone, Zed,” Niall contended.  “The dude has to be strict because he’s running a large, respected institution.  Don’t forget that he started Payne Academy from nothing and built it to what it is today in less than five years, and I don’t think he’s even thirty yet based on the research I’ve done.  “Besides,” he continued, “It’s not like we’ll be working closely with him or anything.  He’s got more important things to do than to be knocking about with a couple of novice teachers.”

“Yeah…you’re probably right,” Zayn acknowledged, feeling foolish.  He was glad he decided to speak with Niall about his concerns now.  His friend had a knack for putting things into perspective, and this time was no different.

“This first year at Payne Academy is going to be one we never forget, Zed,” Niall declared with his easy assuredness, “just you wait and see.”

 

***

 

Within a week, the two boys had settled comfortably into their new flat in the quiet, sleepy town of Wisteria Falls.  By the time Sunday rolled around, however, nerves were beginning to set in (in Zayn’s case anyway).  Students weren’t starting until Thursday, but teachers were to report to school on Monday morning.  That gave Zayn exactly three days to get his classroom in order, learn the building, meet the staff, and gain a sense of the school community. 

He was also nervous about the curriculum he was supposed to be delivering in just a few days.  Granted, he knew his subject matter and the standards like the back of his hand, but he still wasn’t positive about how the Board and principal expected the material to be presented and to what extent he was supposed to be implementing technology into his lesson plans.  He hadn’t even received a finalised schedule yet, for Pete’s sake.

Zayn tended to be high strung anyway, but his current stress levels were through the flipping roof.

He communicated as much to Niall as they sat out on the walled-in balcony overlooking the courtyard behind their apartment building.  Tonight, a cool breeze gave them respite from what had been a swelteringly-hot August day.  To offset the heat, Niall had whipped up a pitcher of lemon-mint iced tea which sat half-empty on the side table. 

“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone,” Zayn concluded as the familiar feelings of inferiority crept up on him again.  “Everyone’s expecting me to be this exceptional teacher just because I was top of my class, but I’m not sure if I can live up to their expectations, you know?”

“Zed, we’ve been through this,” Niall clucked, pouring another glass for himself, ice clunking into the glass.  “I swear, mate.  Those worry lines are going to be a permanent feature if you don’t quit being a right idiot.”  Zayn stuck his tongue out at his friend but Niall just chuckled.  “Come off it.  You’re going to be brilliant, like you always are at everything you set your mind to.  You’ll be a star teacher before the year’s out.  Trust me on this one, yeah?”

Zayn nodded noncommittedly and changed the subject.  “So, how sick is it that you get to head up the new culinary programme at Payne Academy?”

“Oh man; it’s going to be ace!  Can’t bloody wait to see the new fittings.  I heard they just put in professional ranges and everything,” he said excitedly, licking his lips.  “And I think I’m going to ask Principal Payne if we can start a student-run business at the school.  What d’ya think?”

“What were you thinking?”

“Well, I fancied starting a bistro or bakery on Fridays run by upperclassmen in the culinary programme.  Thoughts?” 

“Think you should totally go for it,” Zayn told him honestly.  “It sounds like a lot to ask of high school students, but if anyone can get them to pull off something like that, it’s you.”

“Cheers, Zed.  And you know me…always up for a challenge!”  Niall took another sip of the tea and grimaced slightly.  “Should’ve put something stronger in this.”

“You know I don’t drink, Nialler.”

“Yeah, you don’t do anything, do ya?” Niall teased, dodging an oncoming ice cube.

“I’ve got tattoos, haven’t I?”

“Oh yeah, you’re such a bad boy, Zed,” Niall teased.  Zayn Malik was a lot of things; however, a ‘bad boy’ was not one of them.  “Now where was I?” Niall asked himself, scratching his tawny hair. 

“The bistro idea.”

“Cheers.  Yeah, I’ll talk to Payne about it after I’m settled.  I mean, I still have to teach basic cooking classes to the younger kids, but I think that’ll be good craic as well…as long as none of them burn the school down.”

“Speaking of burning the school down…remember that time when you almost set my family’s kitchen on fire?” Zayn asked, shoulders shaking.  “There were a few flames coming from the range, and I was about to throw water on it, and then you made that big speech about how you’re not supposed to put water on a grease fire.  Remember?”

“Well, you _aren’t_ supposed to put water on a grease fire.”

“So then you put baking powder on it,” Zayn continued, ignoring his friend, “and it almost blew up the whole kitchen.”

“So I mucked up one teeny-tiny detail—”

“Yeah, the difference between baking _powder_ and baking _soda_ ,” Zayn guffawed, wiping away tears from his eyes.  “Thank goodness you’re not a chemistry teacher!” 

“Yeah,” Niall smiled.  “And thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that Yaser walked in before we burnt your gaff down.”

“You should have seen your face when my dad threw a towel over the flames and smothered the fire in about two seconds flat.”

“I’ve always said he was a solid bloke, your da.”

Zayn snickered into his hand.  “Yes, just imagine where your culinary career would’ve gone if you were serving time in jail for first-degree arson.”

“Oi, prisons need chefs, too,” Niall retorted, making Zayn laugh even harder.  “That was the distant past, laddie.  My cooking skills have since improved, I’ll have you know.”

“Wasn’t _that_ long ago.  We were what…twelve?  Thirteen?  You’ll be teaching kids that age.”

“Crap, now _I’m_ nervous about school tomorrow.  Cheers, mate.”

Zayn stifled a giggle.  “Sorry, Nialler.”

Niall yawned, stretching in his chair.  “Well, I’m absolutely shattered, mate.  We have a big day tomorrow so I reckon we ought to turn in.” 

They cleared the table quickly.  Before retiring to their respective rooms, Niall gave him one of his famous bear hugs, one of those hugs that always pulled you in, made you feel like everything was going to be golden. 

“Don’t stay up too late reading!” Niall called before shutting his door on the opposite side of the flat.  Zayn couldn’t help but laugh guiltily at that; Niall knew him so well.

 

***

 

Zayn’s phone alarm began trilling at an ungodly hour, joining his alarm clock in a discordant symphony.  Ever since he could remember, he’d always set both, just to be on the safe side.  He hated waking up early with a passion and didn’t always trust his subconscious brain to make good decisions.  Niall, on the other hand, was an early riser.  Zayn could already hear the shower running as he blurrily searched for his slippers.

Just over an hour later, Niall’s little VW pulled into the faculty parking of Payne Academy.  Niall killed the engine, and they took a moment to just gawk at the impressive structure before them, the place that would serve as their workplace for the foreseeable future.

Payne Academy was a traditional light-coloured brick building.  Ivy covered the exterior and tall, ivory pillars guarded the somewhat daunting entrance.  It had the appearance of a place that had been around for decades—centuries even.  As they walked in, Zayn couldn’t help but ponder whether the building had been used for a similar purpose (as an educational institution) before its current incarnation as Payne Academy. 

For some reason, he got a creepy feeling from the place, as if someone had died here.

“Good morning!” a bright and cheery voice chirped, breaking Zayn out of his morbid reverie and causing him to stumble into his best friend.

“Morning!”  Niall smiled back broadly at the young woman seated in the front office.  He took Zayn by the elbow and steered him through the office doorway, ensuring he didn’t make an idiot of himself (again).

“How may I help you two?” the pretty brunette politely inquired, pushing her frames up her nose.  They didn’t make her look mousy—far from it.  The glasses complemented her heart-shaped face, made her blue eyes look impossibly large like an anime character.  “Did you want to place your child on the waiting list?”

“We’re only twenty-two!”

“And we’re not married,” Zayn added, blushing.

“Well, I’m sure that’s none of my business,” the woman parroted back.  She began typing, fingers flying over the keys, while the boys looked at each other bemusedly.

Zayn cleared his throat.  “I don’t think—”

“Yes, dear—that’s what they all say,” the woman cut in with the pleasant languor of a Midland accent.   “But no matter how young your child is now, the sooner you make plans for their education, the better.”  She pushed her chair back and regarded them with sudden earnestness.  “Our current wait time for entrance to the school—that would be the sixth grade—is just under four years.  I would recommend filling out the paperwork if you think there’s even a chance that—”

“We’re the new teachers,” Niall interjected, cutting off her obviously well-rehearsed spiel.

“Oh my gosh, _really_?”  Behind the frames of her glasses, her blue eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“Yes, really.”  Niall flashed another thousand-watt smile.  “The name’s Horan.  Niall Horan.  I’m the new instructor for the culinary arts programme.” 

“And you’re _Irish_!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.  “You’re our first Irish teacher, too!”

Niall chuckled.  “That I am.”  He nodded towards his companion.  “And this here is…”

“Zayn Malik.  History.” 

“I’m Joanna Hart, principal’s secretary.  Sorry about the mix-up, but you two seemed so…friendly.”

Zayn nodded.  “We’ve known each other since we were kids.” 

“That explains it—silly me.”  She bit her lip nervously.  “By the way…I’d, um, prefer you didn’t tell Dr. Payne I just mistook you two for parents.”

“Your secret’s safe with us, love.”  Niall winked back at her, and Zayn was almost sure the secretary swooned a bit.  “So is Principal Payne available?”

She glanced apprehensively in the direction of the closed door on her left.  “He’s on an important call right now, and he really _hates_ to be disturbed—like, you have no idea.”

Zayn glanced at his best mate, the unsettling feeling from last night returning to him in full force.  Niall didn’t notice though, too busy staring at the petite brunette in front of them.

“I’ll let Dr. Payne know you’re here the first chance I get,” the secretary prattled on.  “I’m sure he’ll want to welcome you to Payne Academy.  In the meantime, I have welcome packages for both of you.” She swivelled around in her chair and collected two large manila envelopes which she handed to Niall.  His hand brushed against hers, and I noticed her blush slightly.

“Well, thank you, Ms. Hart,” he said with that captivating grin of his.  “It’s very kind of you to have prepared these for us.”  His eyes lingered on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary and Zayn kicked him in the shin.

“Ow!”

Jo blinked up at them and it was all Zayn could do to keep a straight face.  “What was that, Mr. Horan?”

“Wow!” Niall quickly recovered.  “I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble on our accounts, Ms. Hart.”

“Oh, it’s nothing!” she gushed.  “Just standard protocol, but I do like to make sure our teachers have everything they need.  Speaking of which, let me make a copy of the building map for you and then I’ll let you go find your rooms.  I’m sure you don’t want to stand around and chat with me all day!”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d mind that at all,” Niall returned flirtatiously as he leaned against the counter.  She giggled, blushing furiously as she rose from her desk and trotted over to a backroom, high heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

“Seriously, Niall?”

“What?” he mouthed back, all innocent now when he was all-wolf a second ago.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“She’s kind of cute, isn’t she?” he mused, a faraway look in his eye.

“No.”

Niall snorted.  “You’re lying, Zed.”

“No, I’m not; she isn’t my type.”

“Well, who’s your type then because if I remember correctly, you turned down every girl who asked you out in school.”

“They weren’t my type either,” Zayn huffed.  “And how did this conversation get around to me?  You’re the one who’s going to get a harassment case slapped against you.”

“You worry too much.  She’s into me; I can tell.”

“Niall, she’s the principal’s _secretary_ , for heaven’s sake,” Zayn hissed just as the sound of clicking heels came back into earshot.

Joanna Hart set the papers on the counter.  “Here is a map for each of you with your room locations marked.  I’d show you to your rooms, but I can’t leave the office, you see.”  Her eyes shifted for a second, then she began to wave frantically at someone behind us.  “Mr Tomlinson!  Wait—Mr. Tomlinson!” She called loudly.

“Hiya, Jo!” the man cheerily returned in a scratchy, high-pitched voice as he strolled into office.  “I’d ask how your summer was, but we just had drinks a weeks ago.  And what’s with the ‘Mr. Tomlinson’ shtick?  The little devils aren’t coming until Thursday—oh.”  His eyes scanned the other two men curiously.  “These the new recruits?”

“Yes, Louis,” Jo corrected herself.  “This is Mr. Horan and this is Mr. Malik.  I was hoping you might be able to show them to their classrooms?”

“Anything for you, love,” the returning teacher said with a wink that could have given Niall a run for his money.

Jo was about to open her mouth to speak again when the phone rang.  “Oh, here we go again!” she muttered.  “Excuse me—I have to take this.  Oh, and I’m looking forward to working with you both,” she said speedily before picking up the receiver and rattling off a professional greeting.

“So what subject do you teach, mate?” Niall asked their new companion as the trio departed the school office.

“Theatre.”  Louis Tomlinson looked every inch a theatre teacher, too.  He wore a t-shirt with a sick graphic design, black blazer, no socks, and fitted trousers which were cropped at the ankles.  It worked for him, but it was hardly an ensemble Zayn expected for a teacher at the prestigious Payne Academy.  Then again, it _was_ a teacher workday and, again, this dude _was_ the drama teacher. 

Zayn battled with his shyness as they ascended a large staircase.  He never was one for small talk, usually relying on Niall in the past, but he had vowed to try a little harder from now on.  “How long have you taught at Payne Academy, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“It’s Louis, and I’ve been here since the beginning—five years.”

Zayn figured the man must be in his late twenties although he had a much younger vibe.  Zayn was quite the opposite, always having been labelled an ‘old soul’ for some reason.  “Nice to meet you, Louis.  I’m Zayn.”

“Zayn.  I quite like that,” the drama teacher mused.  “Pretty name for a pretty boy.”

“I assume we’re headed to Zayn’s room first?” Niall questioned abruptly.

Louis noticed Niall’s perturbed expression and seemed amused by it.  “I’m engaged; don’t worry, mate.  Just stating the obvious there.”  Zayn reddened at that.  “Sooo…I’m guessing you two know each other?”

“Yes, we do,” Zayn clarified, thankful Louis changed the subject.  “Niall and I have been best friends for ages.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Louis observed, quirking his lips.  “It’s important to have people who have your back around here— _massively_ important, if you know what I mean,” he added cryptically.  Zayn didn’t know what he meant, but he kept his mouth shut and followed the other two boys around the corner.

“Well, here we are, lads!  Room 235!” Louis announced soon after, and Zayn couldn’t wait to check out the classroom that would be his second home for the duration of the school year.  In truth, he hoped it would be his for many years to come.  “Niall, did you want to head down to your classroom now?”

“Nah, I’m good, mate.  My room’s downstairs just off the main hall.  It should be easy as tea to find.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two to get settled in then,” Louis said agreeably.  “If you need anything, I’ll be hanging next door in 233.”  He jerked his head towards the next classroom.  “You’re lucky, Malik, because you’re neighbours with my best mate who also happens to be the best bloody teacher in the school.”

Zayn’s ears perked up at that.  “Really?”

“Yeah, his name’s Harry Styles.  I’ll introduce him to you in a bit if you’d like.”

“That would be great!  Thanks a lot!”

“No problem, kid,” Louis replied with all the swagger of Boggart.  “This is only Harry’s fourth year, and he looks like a child, but don’t let that fool you:  he’s top-notch.”  Louis snapped his fingers.  “Come to think of it, I’m sure he mentioned something about how he was going to be a mentor teacher this year.  Since Dr. Payne put you next door to him, I’ve a feeling you’re going to be his mentee or whatever the bloody hell you call it.”

Niall glanced at the closed door to Room 233, then back at Louis.  “Does he teach history, too?”

“Nah, ELA—English language arts, that is.”

Zayn couldn’t help but brighten at that.  “Oh!  I started off as an English major in college, but then I fell in love with a World Civilisations class and the rest is… _well_ …history!”

Louis snorted.  “Yeah, you and Harold are gonna get along just fine.”

Zayn felt his tide of apprehension start to recede a little.  “It’ll be sick to have someone close to my age.  Wasn’t expecting it, actually.”

“What _were_ you expecting, kid?  Some old punter or a middle-aged woman who flirted with you even though she’s got a husband and five brats at home?”

Niall punched Zayn in the arm lightly.  “This one wouldn’t know if a woman was flirting with him to save his life.”

“So you’re into dudes, then?”  Before Zayn had a chance to respond, Louis was steamrolling ahead.  “Yeah, that’s cool.  So’s Harold.” 

Zayn could feel Niall questioning him with those blue eyes, but he pretended not to see.  Finally, the Irishman turned back to Louis.  “So this Harry Styles…he the quiet, bookish type?”

“Not exactly,” Louis chuckled as if it was some kind of inside joke, “but you’ll meet him later.”  He paused for a moment then asked with a sly grin, “hey, you sure there’s nothing going on between you two?”

“Niall’s just overprotective,” Zayn explained, still avoiding his best friend’s eyes for some reason.  “He hasn’t gotten it through his thick skull that I’m a big boy now.”

“I should say you are,” Louis observed, piercing eyes raking over the history teacher. 

Niall frowned.  “Thought you said you were engaged, buddy?”

“Just a bit of banter, mate,” Louis replied with a half-smirk.  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  He started walking towards the next door, turning to give them a salute.  “Well, I’ll be seeing you around.  I’ll bring Harry over once you’re sorted.”  He disappeared into the room without a knock and Zayn turned to his friend.

“You alright, Niall?”

“Hmmm?”   His brows were knitted together.  “Oh.  Yeah, I’m brilliant.”

“So Louis seems nice.”

“Humph.”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “Well, _I_ like him.”

“You like everyone,” Niall grunted.  “You only see the good in people.”

“Well, people have a lot of good in them.”

Niall shook his head.  “One of these days you’re going to meet someone that even _you_ won’t like, Zed, and I can’t wait to be around for that.”

“Highly doubtful, Nialler.”

“We’ll see,” Niall hummed in return.  “By the way, you didn’t correct Louis when he said—” 

“Can we talk about it later?” Zayn begged.  He really didn’t want to come out in the hallway in front of his classroom on his first day. 

Niall looked stunned for a moment.  “Wh-what?” he stuttered.  “Why didn’t you tell me, Zed?”

“Because I’m not sure, and it’s not that important, and I really don’t want to talk about this now,” Zayn mumbled, glancing around.  Niall still looked hurt, but Zayn knew he wouldn’t force the issue.  (Not at the present moment anyway.)

Niall sighed.  “I get why you don’t want to talk about it now but just know I’m here if you ever want to sort through it, yeah?”  He reached out to grasp Zayn by the shoulder.  “Now, let’s check out this classroom of yours, eh?” 

 

***

 

A short while later, the two boys were working diligently on a bulletin board outside Zayn’s classroom.  Zayn had been agonising over the theme all week, cruising Pinterest and other sites for ideas.  They had made good progress thus far, having already put up the brown butcher paper and a few cardboard cut-outs.  They’d come to a standstill though, arguing whether the letter “H” in “History” was in line with the other letters when—

“It’s definitely crooked,” someone rasped from behind them.

Zayn pivoted around to see a young man with striking green eyes.  He was dressed to the nines in an ensemble that screamed _“look at me!”_ On the other hand, there was also something so laidback and unassuming about the guy as well.

“Mr. Malik, I presume?”

Zayn just stared at the stranger for a few seconds.  Then he saw Louis slide up beside him, and it all made sense.

“The name’s Harry Styles,” he announced with outstretched hand.  “I’m the head of the English Department here at Payne Academy, and I have been given the fortunate assignment of acting as your mentor this year.” 

Something about his manner made Zayn instantly at ease.  “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Styles, and I’m really looking forward to learning from you this year.  I hear you’re the best,” he added shyly with a sidelong glance at Louis who pretended to shush him.  

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Styles unless the students are here.  Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said warmly.  “It’s Harry.”

“I’m Zayn, by the way—but you probably knew that,” the new teacher added sheepishly.   

Harry smiled and dimples seemed to pop out everywhere.  “Your students are going to adore you; I can tell.”

Niall dropped the letters he’d been holding and stepped closer to the group.  “So is it customary for a new teacher to be given a young mentor?”

Zayn groaned.  He’d barely admitted he _might_ be gay an hour ago, and now Niall was convinced he needed protecting from every virile, young male in the building.  “ _Niall_.”

“What?  Just asking, Zed.”

“This is Niall Horan,” Louis informed his friend who was watching the proceedings with clear amusement.  “Horan’s the new culinary arts teacher so there goes your shot to apply for a transfer to the kitchen.”

“Just because I was a baker, Lou, doesn’t mean I’d want to switch—”

“As much as the newbies are probably interested in the thrilling adventures of Harold the Baker,” Louis cheekily cut in, “I’m gonna stop you there.  By the way, Zayn and Niall here are best mates, and they, apparently, are not in love with each other.”

Harry chuckled as Zayn felt a blush cross his cheeks.  “Good to know.”  He then extended a hand to Niall who took it warily.  “Nice to meet you as well,” Harry said pleasantly.

“Styles, why don’t you show Horan your other hand?” Louis suggested knowingly.  “Think he might like that one better.”

Harry complied, holding up his left hand for all to see.  At first Zayn wasn’t sure what Louis meant, but then he spotted the plain band circling Harry’s ring finger.

“Oh, are you married?” Niall asked, looking noticeably relieved for some reason.

“Not quite,” Harry responded happily.  “We just set the date.  I wear it as a symbol of my promise to her.” 

Louis pretended to gag.  “Please don’t start, Styles.  I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, and you know I can’t bear to listen to this shit on an empty stomach.”

“Her?” Niall questioned, looking to Louis.  “I thought you said—”

“He swings both ways,” Louis corrected.  Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“The ring idea…I think it’s beautiful,” Zayn admitted.  Deep down, he was a softie, a hopeless romantic.

“Well, I think it’s bloody annoying, if you ask me.” Louis scoffed, scrunching up his nose.  “Eleanor’s always going on about how I should get a bloody ‘engage-man’ ring as well.”

“Sorry, mate,” Harry replied, looking anything but apologetic as his gaze shifted back to the wall behind them.  The smile froze on his face.

Zayn couldn’t help but notice Harry was studying his bulletin board again.  “So what do you think?” he asked proudly, waving a hand towards the half-completed project.

Harry sighed deeply.  “It looks lovely, but how should I say this?”

“The Big Payne’s gonna hate it,” Louis declared without hesitation.  Harry didn’t disagree.

“You can’t be serious,” Zayn said, slightly irked.  “It’s bright, fun, educational, and inviting.  What more could you—”

_“And what do you think you’re doing?”_

Zayn stiffened at the sound of the booming, bone-chilling voice.  He was afraid to turn around, especially when he saw Niall’s eyes widen.

“I am not accustomed to speaking to people’s backs,” the impatient voice continued, and there was no mistaking this time:

It was Liam Payne.

Zayn swallowed and quickly pivoted around.  “I-uh…well, um, I was just….”  He looked around helplessly at the other teachers.  He could read an “I-told-you-so” smile tugging at Louis’ lips, and for the first time in his life, he longed to smack someone.

“You’re our new history teacher, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m history—I mean, I’m Zayn…um…Malik,” he managed, nearly forgetting his own name under the heated gaze from the principal he interviewed with several months before.  “I teach…er…world history.  And like, geography, too.”  He took a shaky breath.  “Well, I mean I’ll be teaching those subjects when, uh, school begins.”

Dr. Payne’s lips curled into a half-smirk.  “Well, at least we can be thankful you’re not teaching English.  Don’t you agree, Mr. Styles?” 

Harry grimaced slightly at the cutting remark directed at his new mentee.  “We apologise, sir, for the misunderstanding.  I was in the process of informing Mr. Malik about the guidelines for bulletin boards when you arrived.”

Dr. Payne seemed pleased by his response.  “Well, Mr. Styles, I am heartened to hear that _someone_ is attempting to adhere to the code of this reputable institution.”  He then faced the group as a whole.  “I won’t have my teachers junking up the halls with bits of construction paper and cheap decorations.  I like everything to be clean and pristine in my school—no exceptions.”  His eyes narrowed in on Zayn.  “Do you understand, Mr. Malik?” 

“Y-yes, of course, Mr. Payne,” Zayn stammered as brown eyes bore into him.

“ _Dr._ Payne, you mean,” he corrected with a disdain that almost knocked Zayn off his feet.  “I have earned the title so I think it only appropriate you address me in the proper fashion, Mr. Malik.”

“I’m s-so sorry, Dr. Payne.  I assure you I meant no disrespect.”

“I’ll let it pass this time, Mr. Malik… _but don’t let it happen again_ ,” he warned.  “Mr. Styles, please make sure Mr. Malik here removes the offensive display.  As his mentor, I will hold you accountable if this happens again.”

“Yes, I understand, sir.”

“Also, please make sure Mr. Malik and Mr. Horan receive their handbooks with the educator code of conduct.”

“Certainly, sir,” Harry responded swiftly like a soldier taking orders, and Zayn’s mind began to wander.  He could almost see his principal in uniform, barking orders like a drill sergeant.  It wasn’t hard to image, to be honest.  Dr. Payne’s brown hair was shaved to a near buzz cut on the sides.  His jaw was set in a firm line from what looked like years of practice, and even with a suit on, one could infer his fit, muscular build.

“It is not polite to stare, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne snarled.  “Please refrain from doing so.”

Zayn could feel his bottom lip trembling as he mumbled out an apology.  He kept his eyes down, didn’t even want to see the sympathetic looks from the other teachers at this point. 

An awkward silence followed, but then Harry cleared his throat.  “If I may, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Styles?”

“Who is Mr. Horan’ mentor?”

“Well, I _had_ contemplated asking Mr. Tomlinson to assume this role,” their principal began, and Louis puffed out like a peacock.  “However, after much deliberation, I’ve decided against this course of action.”

“Why?” Louis whinged.

“Because although you are a special subject teacher like Mr. Horan and although you have the necessary experience, I would not feel comfortable nominating you for a leadership role.”

“I take on leadership roles all the time, sir!” Louis protested.  “I’ve directed countless productions for the drama department, I’m head of the social committee, I—”

“ _I will not argue with you here, Mr. Tomlinson_ ,” Dr. Payne hissed scathingly and even Louis looked a bit apprehensive.  “Directing ‘plays’ and wasting time on planning parties are activities in no way equal to mentoring our impressionable young teachers.”

“But, Dr. Payne—”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Principal Payne bellowed, losing his temper.  A second later though, he was back to his calm but severe manner.  “I will give some thought to this matter before I make a final decision and inform Mr. Horan.  This has nothing to do with you, Mr. Tomlinson—do you understand me?”

“Yes, I understand,” Louis said stiffly.

“Now,” Dr, Payne continued, “I expect to see this gaudy display removed before I next make my rounds.”  He twisted his nose up in disgust at the ‘offensive’ bulletin board.  “One would think one is the headmaster of a primary school,” he muttered under his breath.

“Y-yes, sir.  I’ll take it—the bulletin board—down immediately…Dr. Payne, sir,” Zayn promised, the words clumsily tumbling out of his mouth.  He couldn’t believe he was making such a bad impression on his first day.  Things like this just didn’t happen to Zayn.

Dr. Payne regarded the group sternly.  “You are all dismissed.  Please find an activity worthier of your time than lollygagging about in the hallways.  And remember, the school board is not paying you to fraternise with the other faculty members.”  Then without further ado, Payne Academy’s principal straightened up to his full height and marched off.

He’d barely turned the corner before Louis was rolling his eyes.  “’And remember,’” Louis mimicked, wagging his finger at all of them as he did an almost flawless impersonation, “’the school board is not paying you to fraternise with the other faculty members.’” 

“You’re a proper nutter, Lou,” Harry said, shaking his head but chuckling guiltily.  He coughed and hid his laughter, though, once he realised the two new teachers were watching him.  “Well, that’s Dr. Payne, you two.  I’d suggest you steer clear of him as much as possible…until you learn the ropes, that is.”

Zayn didn’t see a problem with that advice.  Dr. Payne scared the living daylights out of him.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Zayn sighed as he leaned against the closed door of his classroom and surveyed the bare walls surrounding him.  He stayed there until his shoulder blades began to ache, until the ache grew stronger than that of his recent humiliation.

It took a while.

Eventually, he decided he needed to _do_ something.  He uncorked the storage tube he’d brought and began searching for posters, maps, and charts that dealt directly with the subject matter he’d be teaching.  He then placed them around the room in a tasteful way.  Dr. Payne might be more lenient with interiors of classrooms, but Zayn wasn’t about to take any chances.  When he was satisfied, he tidied up the room and added a few personal items—his framed diploma, the lop-sided pencil holder Niall made him that was his favourite shade of green, and the ‘golden’ apple presented to him by the class he student taught for last term. 

The hours flew by.  Zayn had gotten so caught up with his room that it was well into the afternoon before he remembered he needed to set up his computer.  He logged in using the username and password the secretary, Ms. Hart, had given him when he arrived that morning.  He surveyed the home screen, the school’s main page, and it gave him a slight chill.  There were photographs of hard-working students in rows of desks, photographs of smiling students involved in various activities.

But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

No, he was struck by the white background with crisp, uniform scarlet letters spelling out the words:  “I love Payne.”

_I love Payne._

Surely, he was the only person who would draw a negative reaction from the positive message about the school.  After all, it wasn’t like Liam Payne could help having a name that sounded like that, could he?

Zayn continued on to the staff page and checked his e-mail, finding that he already had three messages.  The first was a welcome message forwarded from the secretary with general instructions and necessary links.  The second was also from Ms. Hart, but he skipped it for now in favour of examining the last e-mail.  This one was marked “Important” and was sent from the principal himself:

 

> _If you are receiving this communication, you are a teacher on evaluation for this school year.  Please meet in room 101 at 1400 hours today for an informational meeting where I will be discussing further requirements and specifics. Thank you for arriving promptly._
> 
> _-LP_

 

Zayn stared at the screen for a second, mentally converting the time.  The evaluation meeting was at two o’clock.  His eyes then danced down to the clock on his computer:  2:03.

He was three minutes late.

His heart beat rapidly even before he leapt from his chair and bolted out of the classroom.  He took the steps two at a time, then broke into a sprint as soon as he reached the ground floor of the school.  Frantically, he searched for room 101 and found it just off the main hall.  Trying to still his racing heart and control his breathing, he took a moment to peek inside the meeting room where he could see his new principal addressing a moderately-sized gathering of faculty members.  He waited until Dr. Payne’s back was to him, then opened the door and tip-toed inside.

He thought he’d made it, but apparently, his principal had eyes in the back of his head.

“Please be punctual next time, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne announced curtly as Zayn guiltily slunk into a chair.  “My time is extremely valuable as is the time of the other members of this faculty.  Lateness is a form of disrespect and disrespect is a quality I simply do not tolerate in my staff.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” Zayn mumbled, beyond embarrassed to be called out in front of a whole room of teachers.  To add insult to injury, he hadn’t even met most of them yet.

“What’s that, Mr. Malik?  Could you please speak up?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, sir,” he tried a little louder.  “I meant no disrespect to you, and I promise it won’t happen again, sir.”

Dr. Payne smiled tightly.  “I believe you said something to a similar effect this morning when I caught you junking up the hallways of our school, Mr. Malik.  You are quite fortunate that I’m in a good mood today.”

For some reason beyond him, Zayn almost barked out a laugh at that.  It was the icing on the cake to the worst first day ever.

Dr. Payne, thankfully, seemed to forget about his problematic new teacher at that point as he resumed his evaluation speech.  He detailed how everyone on evaluation had to schedule three observations this semester with the principal (shudder) in three different classes.  The first observation would take place next month.  As Dr. Payne gave detailed instructions on what style of lesson plan he expected, Zayn let his eyes wander about the room.  (Zayn could write out that lesson plan format in his sleep.)  After some hunting in the crowd, Zayn spotted his best friend in the middle of the second row.  Niall must have felt Zayn’s eyes on him because he turned around briefly and flashed a reassuring smile.

Zayn tried not to dwell on how frustrated he was with himself, but it was hard.  He’d done irrevocable damage to his reputation here, dug himself a hole so deep he doubted he’d ever climb out of it. 

Worst of all, it was a position Zayn wasn’t accustomed to:  he was the teacher’s pet, the valedictorian, the goody-two-shoes.  He was not someone who got in trouble— _ever._   He searched out the back of Niall’s head again, hoping to get another dose of moral support, when—

“Excuse me, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne’s voice rang out suddenly.  “If you wouldn’t mind focusing your attention up here on the screen rather than on Mr. Horan, it would be _greatly_ appreciated.”

“I’m s-so sorry.  I—”

“Yes, we know,” he chided, twirling the remote he was holding into the air with a fancy flick of the wrist and catching it again.  “You meant no disrespect, and you promise it won’t happen again, right?” 

There were a few nervous titters from the other teachers, but when the principal’s eyes swept the room, they quickly dissipated.  Zayn had a feeling that being on Dr. Payne’s bad side would not earn him any friends in the school. 

“Mr. Malik?”

Zayn nodded dumbly, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he stared with glossy eyes at the screen in front of him.  He was grateful that half the lights in the room were turned off to save him any additional humiliation.

Dr. Payne seemed satisfied.  “Now, if I have _everyone’s_ attention, I will resume the presentation.” 

The remainder of the meeting dragged on.  Payne never asked if there were questions and no one asked any.  At last, Dr. Payne thanked them for their ‘attentiveness,’ and Zayn practically tripped over his chair in his eagerness to exit the stifling classroom. 

But Dr. Payne wasn’t finished yet.

“The following teachers are still on temporary licences and need to remain after the meeting for additional instructions:  Mr. Sheeran, Mr. Horan, _and Mr. Malik_.” 

If Zayn didn’t know better, he’d think the principal had been eating some bad sushi as he announced the final name on the list.  At least now there was no question that Dr. Payne disliked him. 

The rest of the teachers shuffled out, and Zayn reluctantly made his way to the front row, standing beside his best friend.

“Ah, how refreshing,” Dr. Payne observed drily, and Zayn made the mistake of looking inquisitively up at the man.  “The fact that you arrived on time for this meeting, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne clarified, and Zayn wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there.  Indefinitely.  Instead, he just sat down quietly and stared at the floor while he waited for Dr. Payne to start presenting.  He felt Niall pat his knee, but it didn’t help.  

There was a movement to his right, and he snuck a glance in that direction.  A ginger-haired boy with a friendly face sat two chairs down, and Zayn assumed it must be Mr. Sheeran.  Payne commenced soon after, reviewing the additional state guidelines for first and second year faculty.  Zayn assumed the other teacher must be returning for his second year because Zayn knew for a fact that Niall and him were the only newcomers to the staff.

Zayn forced himself to listen closely as Dr. Payne spoke, only taking a brief moment to catalogue the man’s confident, rich tone and impeccable speaking style.  Dr. Payne outlined the mentoring component required by the state and formally assigned mentors for the novice teachers (except Mr. Sheeran who evidently already had one).  Zayn was relieved when Harry Styles was officially named his mentor.  Harry seemed friendly and extremely knowledgeable, and Zayn needed all the help he could get on rectifying the less–than-stellar start to his teaching career.

Niall was assigned a mentor teacher they hadn’t met yet.  Her name was Patricia Cunningham, head of the arts department, and she had been teaching for over twenty years.  Doing the math, Zayn figured she had to be well into her mid-forties so there was no danger in Niall hitting on her.  Well, little danger, anyway.

He foolishly began to think the meeting was going relatively well (compared with the rest of the day), but then Dr. Payne said something that made Zayn’s skin crawl.

“Before I dismiss you, I would like to remind Mr. Malik and Mr. Horan that they are on full Probationary Status for this academic year.  It is entirely up to my discretion whether you receive your full teaching licence or not—even if you complete all other necessary components,” he disclosed ominously.  “I will listen to the feedback and reports from your mentors, but again, you must meet my extremely high and demanding standards.  Is that clear?”

_How could it not be?_

Zayn rushed out of Room 101 as soon as he could, not even bothering to wait for Niall.  He knew his friend would understand; he’d witnessed Dr. Payne’s snide comments towards Zayn first-hand. 

Zayn was just about to head back to his classroom when he heard announcement come over the intercom:

“Pardon the interruption, staff,” Ms Hart’s honeyed voice sounded over the speakers.  “This is your reminder that the alarms and building security codes are going to be tested this afternoon.  Any faculty or staff members still remaining at this time have approximately ten minutes to exit the building.”

Zayn blanched.  Turning to the only other person in the main hall, he managed to rasp out, “she’s kidding, right?”

“No, I’m afraid she’s not,” Mr. Sheeran replied, eyes worried as he took in Zayn’s undoubtedly frazzled appearance.  “She sent an e-mail about it, mate.  Didn’t you see it?” 

And yes, Zayn remembered seeing an e-mail from Ms. Hart in his inbox right before he’d made a mad dash to get to the evaluation meeting with Dr. Payne.  He saw the e-mail, but he didn’t read it.  Of course he didn’t.

Then, he thought of the countless things he needed to do to get his classroom in order by Thursday.  Thursday, as in the first day of school.  Thursday, as in _three days from today_. 

“C’mere, Zed; it’s gonna be alright.”  

Zayn let Niall pull him into one of his famous hugs.  He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and put on a stoic face as he broke away.

The third teacher in the hall shuffled his feet awkwardly.  “Well, it was lovely meeting you two….”

“But we haven’t properly met,” Niall corrected him, and the boy smiled.  Niall sorted through all the necessary introductions while Zayn tried not to let his mood plummet further or his overactive brain propel itself into full on crisis-mode.

“Since we’re being kicked off the school grounds,” Ed, their new acquaintance, began, “what would you say to a coffee to get our minds off…well, you know.”

“Love to,” Zayn agreed as Niall seconded the idea.  “Just let me grab my bag from my classroom, yeah?”

Zayn made the trip as quickly as he could.  When he reached the office, he was about to wave at Ms. Hart, but she seemed preoccupied, her gaze following Niall as he sauntered through the double set of doors, chatting casually with Ed. 

“Earplugs, Miss Hart!” a voice barked from inside the office, and Zayn saw the secretary noticeably jump—but she wasn’t the only one. 

He had just reached the first set of doors when the most awful cacophony of siren-like bells blared through the halls.  Zayn staggered back as if he’d been electrocuted.  He knew it was a test, knew the alarm was bound to set off at any moment, but still it rattled him to the core.  Shaking off his shock, he quickly made his way outside where the ringing was just a faded wail, an echo in his oversensitive ears. 

Of course he was the only teacher to be caught in the school when the alarms went off.  If he were superstitious, he’d say it was a sign of some sort.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the superstitious type.

 

***

 

Espresso Expresso appeared to be _the_ place to hang out on a Monday afternoon, and Zayn wondered if it was always this packed.  The place seemed vibrant, bursting with life, from the swing music (thankfully not too loud since his ears were still ringing a little) to the giant murals colouring the walls.  Zayn was glad they’d ordered when they did because the line was practically out the door now.

“So what’s your classroom like, Ni?” Zayn asked when they finally nabbed a table.

“It’s brilliant, Zed!  The fittings are wicked, and it’s got all the mod cons….”

Zayn tuned out a little, soaked in the atmosphere, as his friend went on and on about professional-grade ranges and stand mixers.  He grew nostalgic somehow, reminiscing about the countless study sessions over the years where Zayn would help Niall with maths and Niall would repay him in food.  Zayn had served as Niall’s guinea pig, testing all of the other boy’s crazy concoctions and giving honest feedback as only a best friend could.  Admittedly, the role became easier as they became older and Niall’s culinary expertise increased.  _Much_ easier.

“ORDER NUMBERS 37, 38, AND 39 READY AT THE COUNTER!”

Niall and Ed jumped up, and Zayn felt obliged to stay with the table, just in case.  Ed took charge when they returned a minute later, divvying up everything on the trays as he carefully balanced them on one arm like a proper waiter.  “Who ordered the quiches?”

“The Lorraine’s mine,” Niall said, pointing it out, “and the cheesy one is Zayn’s.”

“How about the chicken salad croissant?” Ed asked, lifting the plate carefully off the tray.

“That’s Zayn’s; it’s his favourite.”

“The jalapeño crisps?”

“Zayn again,” Niall answered, handing the bag of kettle chips to Zayn before taking the seat next to his friend.

“What about the large Loco Mocha frozen cappuccino?”

“Me,” Zayn answered, moving his apple on to a plate so there’d be enough room to set the drink down.  He was starting to feel slightly self-conscious with the way the plates were stacking up in front of him. 

“Oh, then this banana cream pie must be yours, Niall,” Ed concluded, placing the massive slice of pie in front of the Irishman.

“Nope, that’s Zed’s again,” Niall sniggered, pushing the plate in Zayn’s direction.

Ed’s jaw dropped as he gave Zayn a once-over.  A mixture of disbelief and admiration crossed his features.  “You two are taking the piss, right?”

“Not a chance,” Niall replied, waving a hand over the collection of plates while Zayn fantasised about slipping under the table and crawling towards the exit unnoticed.  “He’s got the metabolism of a hummingbird, lucky bastard.  Personally, I think he stresses off the extra calories.” 

Zayn had to hand it to his friend because that was a darn good theory.  He was a born worrier; just like his mom.

“Oi, wait a tick,” Niall stated, checking his phone.  “It’s only four.  That’s an awful lot of grub for this time of day—even for you, Zed.” 

Zayn didn’t say anything, just stared cross-eyed at the croissant he was shoving into his mouth.

“Ahem?”

Zayn caved; he always caved when Niall ahemmed him, dammit.  “Alright, I forgot to bring my lunch, okay?”

“For the love of all things holy, Zayn Javadd Malik!  I packed it for you and everything!  I even wrote a special note for you inside.”

“Left it in the fridge, I guess,” Zayn apologised.  “Look at it this way—now you don’t need to pack my lunch tomorrow, right?”  Zayn attempted to sound cheerful but Niall just grunted. 

“Yeah, but the note won’t make sense tomorrow,” he complained, digging into his quiche half-heartedly.

Ed’s curious gaze shifted from Zayn to Niall and back again.  “You guys live together?” he asked with forced casualness. 

“Yes, unfortunately,” Niall grumped and Zayn swatted his arm. 

“Oh.”  Ed frowned, but then just as quickly, his expression lightened.  “So, uh, how long have you two been together?”

“Together?” Zayn echoed before it dawned on him.

“Pleeease,” Niall complained playfully, “I’m eating here.”  Zayn just rolled his eyes at his friend’s typical response.

Ed’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  “You mean…you two aren’t—?”

“No, we are most certainly not,” Zayn shot back, starting to get a smidge annoyed by the question at this point. 

“So you guys have never dated?”   

“Never,” Niall and Zayn chorused.

“That’s ace!” Ed blurted out, and almost instantly, his cheeks reddened.  “I mean, it’s…er…brilliant that you two are best mates and working at the same school together and all.”  He coughed and took a drink of tea.  “So Niall...that kitchen sounds fantastic.  My classroom’s just down the hall from yours so let me know if you need anyone to test out any of your bakes, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Niall replied with a wink.  “I’ll put you down as a taster for my sixth grade Intro to Cooking class.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re a shit instructor, then?”

“Nice one,” Niall approved, and the music teacher gave a mini bow from where he was sat.  “But being a music teacher has to be a good gig—especially at a place like Payne Academy.”

“Yeah, it’s great…mostly,” Ed admitted.  “Especially when I don’t have to teach all the lame-ass classes like choir and shit.”

Zayn swallowed his last bite of quiche, washing it down with the mocha.  “What classes do you teach, Ed?”

“Oh, I get a lot of the electives:  Music Theory, Music Technology, and my personal favourite…Music History.”

“Those are electives?” Niall grimaced.  “Thanks but no thanks.  Any time you add ‘theory’ to anything, it’s an automatic joykill.” 

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “Well, I’d kill to have the opportunity to teach Music History, just saying.”

“Considering you’d have to kill _me_ to teach it,” Ed chuckled, blue eyes twinkling, “I’d prefer you didn’t resort to that.”

“Ha, I’d watch your back then, mate,” Niall said easily, taking another forkful of pie— _Zayn’s_ pie.  “Zayn here fancies himself a singer.  You should hear him in the shower crooning his arse off…and using up all the hot water while he’s at it.”

“That’s something I’d definitely like to see,” Ed said before smacking his head with a groan.  “God, didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” Zayn blinked, stealing his plate back when Niall wasn’t looking.

“Never mind, Zed.  Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”  Niall tickled Zayn’s earlobe, and Zayn swatted his hand away.  “Well, how was the pie?”

“The one you ate half of?” Zayn grumbled as Niall grinned cheekily.  “Good—not as good as yours, though, if I’m being honest.” 

“Oi, gonna get a big head if you keep saying things like that.”

“Too late,” Zayn returned before casting his attention on the music teacher once again.  “So Ed, what’s the outline for that Music History class?”

Ed seemed thrilled by the question, and Zayn felt a warm, fuzzy glow inside.  “Well, it starts off with the masters—you know, the ‘three B’s’ and all that.”

“The three B’s?” Niall repeated.

“Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven.”

Niall gave his friend a thumbs up.  “Cheers, Zed.”

“And then,” Ed continued, excitement bubbling in his voice, “we get to cover early twentieth century music—especially the jazz standards.”

“Wow, sounds bloody riveting,” Niall said sarcastically, and Zayn nudged him in the side.  “So what’s it end with?  Katy Perry and Jay-Z?”

“No,” Ed guffawed.  Zayn noticed he had a cute guffaw…as guffaws go.  “We look at the history of rock ‘n’ roll, but I feel like I never have enough time to do that justice.”

An idea began rattling around in Zayn’s brain.  “Hey, wouldn’t it be sick if you and me could teach a collaborative class?” he asked.  “We could call it the History of Rock and Roll or something.”

Ed seemed intrigued.  “Tell me more.”

Zayn felt shy all of a sudden, two sets of eyes trained on him, but he explained as best he could.  “The objective could be to examine the socio-political and cultural implications of rock music in, say, the 1960s and 1970s.”  He licked his lips.  “The goal being to study its lasting influence on music and society today.”

Niall snorted.  “’Socio-political’ is an automatic joykill, too, but since you were so supportive of my student-run bistro idea, I’m not gonna shit on your parade.”

“ _Rain_ on your parade,” Zayn corrected.

Niall shrugged.  “Same difference.”

“Well, I think it’s a brilliant idea, Zayn!” Ed smiled, and the way he said Zayn’s name almost made up for the ghastly day he’d had.  “Yeah, I’d definitely be up for that.  We should draft a syllabus and submit it to Dr. Payne for next term.”

 _Dr. Payne._   Zayn had almost forgotten about him.  “You really think he’d go for that kind of class?” he asked doubtfully, suddenly realizing that, of course, the principal would have final approval.  It immediately crushed his budding excitement.

_Talk about a joykill…._

“Why not?” Ed replied.  “He fancies anything that makes Payne Academy stand out from other schools.  Niall’s idea, for example, sounds like something he’d eat up—no pun intended.”

“I love this guy!” Niall exclaimed, reaching across the table to high-five the other teacher.

“I actually have a similar pet project,” Ed admitted sheepishly.  “I teach guitar lessons a couple of days after school, and the students perform at local shops…like this one.  There’s not much that beats putting a guitar in a kid’s hands and watching how it changes his or her life.”

Zayn felt his heart flutter at the sweet sentiment. 

Niall seemed equally impressed.  “So how’d you convince the Big Payne to let you teach guitar?”

Ed raised an eyebrow.  “I see you’ve met our theatre teacher,” he observed, obviously referring to Niall’s use of the unwise nickname.  “I wouldn’t be copying his expressions though.  Louis Tomlinson seems to get away with a whole lot more than everyone else at the school.”

“It didn’t seem like it earlier,” Zayn muttered, thinking of how hard the principal had come down upon the drama teacher in the hallway that morning.  Ed looked curious so Niall and Zayn briefly filled him in on the bulletin board incident.

“Man,” Ed exhaled when they finished, “I wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale if I behaved like that in front of the boss.  Dr. Payne does not take perceived challenges to his authority well.”  He shook his head.  “Believe me, anyone else but Louis Tomlinson would have been fired on the spot.”

“So, what do you think of him?” Niall asked carefully.  “Tomlinson, that is.”

“Oh, he’s a bit full of himself, that one,” Ed confided.  “He probably thinks he shits glitter—but please don’t tell him I said that,” he tacked on nervously.

Zayn shook his head to get rid of the unpleasant image.  “So how does he get away with so much?”

Ed ticked off the list of reasons on his fingers.  “Well, he’s tenured; he’s been there since the school opened; he’s good at what he does; and he’s best mates with Dr. Payne’s favourite teacher, Harry—”

“Styles,” Zayn finished, smiling.  “He’s my mentor.”

“I thought I heard Dr. Payne say that at the meeting,” Ed told him.  “Man, did you luck out.  He’s bloody fantastic!”

“So we’ve heard,” Niall commented unenthusiastically.

“Yes, but I mean, he really is an outstanding teacher,” Ed said passionately.  “I observed a few of his classes last year—you can do that as a new teacher, you know.  Anyway, it’s like watching a bloody teaching master class; I was proper impressed.”

“Like I said,” Niall relayed, “we heard he’s good.”

“No, I mean, he’s the real deal,” Ed said fervently, sounding a tad star-struck.  “Harry Styles even won the New Teacher of the Year award from the state a few years back.  I wasn’t here, obviously, but Dr. Payne’s always going on about it with the parents.”

“New Teacher of the Year?”

“Stop drooling, Zed,” Niall teased, and Zayn blushed because his friend could read him so well.  “He’s a bit of a try-hard, this one,” Niall explained to the music teacher.  “He won every award at school.”

Zayn blushed deeper.  “Not _every_ award, Ni.”

“Just about.”

“Well, with Harry Styles as your mentor teacher,” Ed told him, “you’ve definitely got a fair shot at it.” 

“So Ed,” Niall began, changing the subject (and not soon enough in Zayn’s opinion), “you going to tell us how you managed to gain approval for the guitar lessons?”

“Oh yeah, sorry.  The Board liked that it didn’t really cost anything; I received a grant and donations for the guitars,” Ed relayed.  “Dr. Payne liked that it was an academic motivator for students.”

“How so?” Zayn asked.

“They have to maintain a high GPA so Dr. Payne and the parents love that.”

“He actually _likes_ giving students a positive incentive?” Niall questioned.  “I would have thought he’d go for more of the punishment route.  You know, locking underperforming students in the school’s dungeon, poisoning the cafeteria food, the odd bit of torture in the chemistry lab….”

“Niall!” Zayn scolded, timidly glancing around the café.

“Oh, come now, Zed; don’t be ridiculous!” Niall scoffed.  “I highly doubt our principal is a frequent patron of Espresso Expresso.”

“One can never be too careful where Dr. Payne is concerned,” Ed warned.  “But to answer your question, Niall, I overheard Harry Styles saying something once about how Dr. Payne is really into music.  Rumour has it he even auditioned for a talent show when he was a kid.”

Niall and Zayn instantly burst into laughter.  That had to be the wackiest idea Zayn had ever heard.  There was no way Zayn could imagine the stern principal as a pop singer.  No way at all.

 

***

 

On Tuesday, there was a staff meeting ‘afterschool’—the faculty’s very first.  Some, like the majority of the social science department, complained that it was pointless to have a staff meeting that afternoon when school wasn’t even in session yet.  Zayn could see their point.  Half the day had been filled with trainings and department meetings, and his head was already swimming with all kinds of plans and ideas.  A staff meeting just seemed like overkill at this point.

“At least there’s cake,” Niall pointed out, finding the silver lining as always. 

Zayn craned his neck from where they were stood in line, trying to decipher the writing on the massive sheet cake.  “What’s the special occasion anyway?” 

“My birthday,” Dr. Payne answered shortly, appearing out of nowhere.  (He had a special knack for doing so apparently.)

“Oh…well…um…happy birthday,” Zayn managed, mentally kicking himself.

“Hardly,” Dr. Payne scoffed.  “It’s merely an excuse for our social committee to pilfer our precious time under the guise of celebrating an inconsequential marker in my life.  They ought to be celebrating an accomplishment of the school.  Instead, they deem it necessary to mark an occasion as meritless as a _birth_ day.”  He snorted and marched off towards the front of the library.  They watched as one of the aides offered him a slice of cake, but he just glared at her until she shrunk away.

“So that just happened,” Niall muttered under his breath.  Zayn couldn’t have said it better himself.

 

***

 

“Thought you quit, Zed,” Niall tutted later that evening as Zayn lit up a cigarette on the balcony.

Zayn _had_ quit…mostly anyway.  It was his one major vice (the occasional cigarette when he felt stressed or overwhelmed), one he’d kept hidden from almost everyone—except Niall.  “Sorry, I’ll smoke it away from you.  I just…needed one.”

“Why?”

“No reason,” Zayn shrugged, avoiding his roommate’s eyes as he blew a puff of smoke out into the humid night air.

“This have anything to do with a certain Dr. Payne?”

“Maybe,” Zayn sighed, taking another drag.  “Maybe it has more to do with me though.”

“Don’t blame yourself for the bulletin board fiasco, mate; could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve read my e-mails earlier,” Zayn pointed out and Niall just hummed in response.  “Then I wouldn’t have been late to the evaluation meeting.”  Zayn couldn’t help but replay all the lowlights of the past two days in his head.  It made him cringe, just thinking about all of his faux pas.  He almost forgot about the cigarette he was holding until he felt a warmth at his fingers.  He flicked the mountain of ash away and rubbed it out.

Niall cleared his throat.  “You know you could’ve told me before, by the way.” 

“Told you what?”  Zayn searched Niall’s eyes for an answer and then it hit him.  “Oh…that.”  He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten about coming out to his friend (and Louis Tomlinson) yesterday morning. 

Niall frowned, looking off at the sunset painting the sky purple and red.  His voice became soft, softer than Zayn ever remembered it sounding before.  “I know this isn’t about me, but it kind of hurt, your not telling me sooner, Zed.”

Zayn felt the sharpness of disappointment in his friend’s words.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, just makes me feel shitty, like you thought I’d judge you or act like a dick if I knew.”

“No, Niall…it’s not that at all,” Zayn assured him, and it really wasn’t.  “Look, it’s just…I don’t want to put a label on it or whatever.  I think I’m attracted to guys more, but I’ve never really thought about—” he faltered, dipping his eyes, “— _that_ aspect of a relationship.  My dreams always sort of ended at ‘they kissed, then lived happily ever after.’”

Niall whistled.  “Man, you really are a late bloomer.  Well, I reckon we ought to make up for lost time then.”  Niall sat up in his chair, and Zayn was already wary before his friend even opened his mouth.  “So what did you think about Ed?  Seemed like a solid bloke to me, and he was totally into you.”

“Seriously?” Zayn sputtered.  “Are you trying to set me up with some guy we just met?  You do realise that just because I ‘might’ be gay doesn’t mean I’m going to hit on every single guy I meet, right?”

Niall face broke into a roguish grin.  “Why not?  That’s my philosophy with women, and it seems to have worked pretty decently for me up ‘til now, if I do say so m’self.”

Zayn groaned, making a memo to himself to never talk about dating or relationships with his roommate again because _honestly_.

“Well, here’s to Dr. Payne,” Niall commented, raising his beer bottle.  “Here’s hoping he gets laid for his birthday because Lord knows he needs it.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

Niall cocked his head to the side a bit drunkenly.  “Just out of curiosity.  D’ya think he’s fit?”

Zayn was taken aback by the question.  “Why are you asking?”

“No reason.  Just trying to get a feel for what you’re into, that’s all, and I heard a few of the female faculty talking about how fit he was.”

Zayn snorted, leaning back in his chair.  “Yeah, Stalin was also a looker when he was young.  Looks aren’t everything, Ni.”

“Fair enough,” Niall chuckled, hiccupping at the end.  “And I know what you mean, Zed.  Even if I were into lads, I wouldn’t ride him if he came with pedals.”

“That’s our _principal_ you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Niall agreed, a gleam in his eyes.  “Let’s talk about the principal’s _secretary_ instead.  Or, we can always go back to the subject of that ginger music teacher….”

Zayn groaned and rose from his chair.  That was definitely his cue to leave.  Besides, he had some changes he wanted to make to his first week plans before turning in.  “Goodnight, Niall.”

“G’night, Zed,” Niall laughed following him a bit unsteadily back into the apartment.  “By the way, you’re cute when you blush.  I’m sure Ed would agree with me.”

“Shut up, Niall.”

“Love you, Zed.”

“Love you, too, bro.”  Zayn smiled despite himself, and in that moment, everything didn’t seem quite as bad as it did before.  After all, he had Niall, he’d been assigned a dream mentor, and he was starting to make some friends at the school. 

In fact, if Dr. Payne didn’t hate him, everything would be perfect.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love on the first chapter and hope you enjoyed this one even though it was a bit fluffy I guess? I don't want to give too much away, but there is the first (one-on-one) Ziam scene in the next chapter. Thoughts? Predictions? ~Maree xx


	3. Chapter 3

 

On the morning of the first day of school, Zayn was a complete and utter wreck.  He hadn’t slept the night before; instead, he stayed up all night pacing and reviewing his lesson plans for the umpteenth time.  He had chewed his nails to the quick as he battled self-doubt, wondering whether his students would like him, whether his college supervisor was right when she said he was born to be a teacher.

Zayn reminded himself it was normal to have nerves, that even as a kid he’d inevitably be restless, stay up longer than he should the night before the first day of the new school year.  When Zayn saw Niall at breakfast, though, he looked his usual sunshine-y self, and it was really difficult not to hold that fact against him.  _Really_ difficult.

They arrived early and after checking his mailbox and giving a cursory wave to Ms. Hart, Zayn set on a direct route to his classroom.  Dr. Payne was nowhere in sight yet, and Zayn thanked his lucky stars for that.  The last thing Zayn needed was to have another unfortunate confrontation with _him_ before his first morning as a real teacher.

Zayn had just rounded the corner when he saw Harry Styles fumbling with his keys.  He was obviously struggling—a brown leather bag slung over his shoulder, several books cradled under one arm, and a crimson tumbler tucked under his chin.  Zayn sprinted the last few yards to the English teacher’s door and grabbed the tumbler just as it began to slip.

“Cheers, you’re a bloody lifesaver,” Harry exhaled gratefully, adjusting the heavy bag he was toting so he could unlock the door.  “Probably should’ve put something down,” he smiled self-deprecatingly.  “I must’ve thought I was Superman or something.”

“Superman?  No way,” Zayn scoffed.  “You’d want a few more appendages, like Doctor Octopus, to manage all that.”

Harry seemed amused.  “So you’re into comic books then?”

Zayn bit his lip and shrugged sheepishly.  He didn’t mean to reveal his inner geek so early to his mentor, but at least Harry now knew what he was dealing with.

“Listen, I don’t judge, mate; I’m addicted to the Hallmark Channel, and I weep at commercials with mums, babies, or small animals.  It’s a problem.”

Zayn chuckled.  “Well, glad I could help anyway.” 

“Like I said, you’re a lifesaver,” Harry said again.  He nudged the door open with the tip of his boot, and Zayn quickly grabbed it for him. 

Zayn ducked his head and waited for Harry to pass, a little embarrassed that the other teacher was making such a big deal over nothing.

But Harry wasn’t letting it go.  He stayed there in the doorway for a beat until Zayn shyly met his gaze.  His mentor had that amused expression on his face again, a mix between a smirk and a Mona Lisa smile.  “You think I’m having you on, don’t you?  Well, I’m not, I assure you.  I’m an absolute monster without my coffee, and the mysterious brown liquid in the teachers’ lounge doesn’t rate at all in my book.  Have you tried it yet?”

“The coffee?” Zayn asked, stifling a yawn.  “No, I’m not really a coffee drinker—unless it’s got loads of whipped cream and chocolate, that is.” 

“Just wait until you’ve taught here a few months,” Harry clacked.  “You’ll be mainlining it like the rest of us.”  With that, Harry strode into his classroom, the image of quiet confidence, and set everything on his mahogany desk. 

Not really knowing what to do, Zayn followed after him, still carrying the tumbler.  While Harry powered on his computer, Zayn discretely examined the English teacher’s classroom.

It was extremely well-organised; everything seemed to be in its right place.  At the same time, it was inviting and bulging with character.  Patterned fabric covered the bulletin boards and the desks were arranged in a u-shape.  On the wall behind the teacher’s desk was an oversized, framed poster of William Shakespeare.  It wasn’t the stodgy-looking portrait one would expect in an English teacher’s classroom though.  Rather, it was a tiled design of the bard painted with bright, graphic colours _a la_ Andy Warhol.  The caption read:  _Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none._

“ _All’s Well That Ends Well_ , Act one, Scene one,” Harry supplied, and Zayn blinked at him in surprise, feeling sheepish again.  He realised he was still holding Harry’s tumbler so he set it down quickly on the desk.  The cup’s logo caught his eye:  _I Love Payne._

He shuddered.  Maybe it was just him, but the slogan seemed to clash with the quote above it.

It was probably just him.

“But where are my manners?” Harry chided himself, and Zayn forced himself to stop reading so much into things.  “Good morning, Zayn.”

“Good morning, Mister, uh, Harry.” 

The amused expression made another appearance but that was it thankfully.  Harry didn’t specifically call Zayn out on his awkwardness like Dr. Payne would have.  “I have to say that you are certainly here early,” he said approvingly.  “Usually I’m the first one in and last one out…in this wing at least.”

“Wanted to make sure everything was ready to go, you know?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Um, me?  Uh, no, not really…well, maybe a little.”  Zayn tried to sound nonchalant, tried relaxing the tension in his neck and shoulders.  It was an epic fail.

Harry cocked his head to the side.  “You know you don’t have to pretend in front of me, right?”  

Zayn could feel his cheeks heat up.  If he were being honest, he was slightly worried that Harry might tell their principal about his weaknesses.  “Y-yes?”

“Well that certainly sounded convincing!” Harry re-joined before lowering his voice as if he were divulging a great secret.  “I won’t tell anyone about anything confidential we discuss— _including_ your feelings, doubts, and insecurities.  If this is going to work—” he motioned between the two of them, “—you need to trust me, okay?  I’m one of the ‘few’ Will up there was referring to.”  His eyes once again found the Shakespeare poster Zayn had been admiring earlier.  

Zayn returned his gaze to him and gave a shy nod.  Zayn would have to take a chance on trusting him.  Harry obviously knew what he was doing, and Zayn needed all the help he could get—especially after the disastrous last few days.

“Alright, then!” Harry exclaimed cheerily, clapping his hands together.  “Do you need any last minute help before we open for business?”

“No but thanks for asking.” 

“Remember—I’m right next door if you need me.  Also, be sure to e-mail Jo if you find you’re missing anything.  She’s always on top of things.”

“Ah, don’t you just _love_ women who are on top of things?” a voice interjected.  Zayn spun around to see Louis Tomlinson leaning against the doorframe, a sly grin upon his boyishly handsome face.  “Or, maybe I should change that to ‘men who are on top of things,’ present company and all.”

Zayn could feel his cheeks heating up.

“ _Really,_ Tomlinson?” Harry scolded, pushing his friend out the door and wheeling him back down the hall as Zayn tagged along a few feet behind.  “You are _not_ going to be bothering Mr. Malik with your laddish behaviour when it’s his first time—”

“Well, _geez_ , Styles,” Louis hooted entirely too loudly for Zayn’s liking.  “Why didn’t you bloody tell me it was the boy’s first time?” 

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved his friend away while Zayn tried his best to hide his horrified expression.  The drama teacher feigned all kinds of theatrics before ‘falling’ down the stairs.  When he reached the bottom, Louis cupped his hands to his face and shouted up to them: 

“Happy first day of school, you two!  Oh, and Zayn—don’t screw up, yeah?”  He then saluted and marched off to torment his next victim.

“Please excuse his behaviour,” Harry said almost fondly.  “I would call it temporary insanity, but unfortunately, he’s been acting like that ever since I met him.”

Zayn considered asking why they were still friends but figured he didn’t know Harry well enough to go there.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “best of luck today—not that you need it, _Mr. Malik_.”

“Thank you, _Mr. Styles_ ,” Zayn returned, practicing calling his mentor by his last name for the students. 

Soon after, those students began shuffling in for his first class, sixth-grade Ancient History.  Zayn taught two section of this, and his younger students were well-behaved and just absolutely lovely in general.  Of course, this was the first year at Payne Academy for all of them, and they looked about as scared and apprehensive as Zayn felt.

Zayn’s second hour class was World Geography.  This was an effortless course for him to teach since geography was one of his strongpoints (as was anything that required rote memorisation).  But even with a solid memory, Zayn still had to glance at his schedule after every hour to check which class came next.  He wondered how long it would be before his teaching schedule became ingrained in him:

 

> **1 st Hour:  Ancient History (Grade 6)**
> 
> **2 nd Hour:  World Geography (Grade 10-12)**
> 
> **3 rd Hour:  Honours World History (Grades 11/12)**
> 
> **4 th Hour:  World History and Cultures (Grade 9)**
> 
> **_(Lunch)_ **
> 
> **5 th Hour:  World History and Cultures (Grade 9)**
> 
> **6 th Hour:  Ancient History (Grade 6)**
> 
> **7 th Hour:  Plan**
> 
> **8 th Hour:  World History (Grades 11/12)**

 

By the time lunch came, Zayn wanted to throw his hands in the air and sing the “Hallelujah” chorus _._  (Or better yet, crawl under his desk with one of Niall’s whisky bottles.  Too bad he didn’t drink.)  As he took in the organised mess before him, Zayn marvelled that other teachers actually found time to eat downstairs in the teachers’ lounge.  The idea of being able to escape from his classroom even for twenty minutes seemed unfathomable to him at this point.

By his seventh hour plan time, Zayn was ready to lay his head on his desk and take a nap.  He was exhausted, and his lack of sleep the night before wasn’t helping.  The one thing that kept him going was the fact that Zayn couldn’t ask for better, more attentive students.  They all seemed eager to learn, and their behaviour was certainly exemplary.  He chalked this up to the overall school focus on respect and discipline.  Perhaps Dr. Payne’s authoritarian rule really was for the best.

And then came eighth hour, his last class of the day.

To say these students were unruly was an understatement.  Zayn tried every classroom management technique he’d learned in college but nothing seemed to work.  They passed notes, texted each other on phones only semi-hidden under their desks, popped bubble gum, dropped textbooks and pencils, whispered and giggled loudly during his instruction, and ignored his directions when Zayn gave them a simple assignment.

It was a nightmare; one which Zayn was thoroughly unprepared for after having such a smooth ride up until that point.

He was ready the next day though. 

Zayn decided to speak with his mentor on Friday morning before school.  (Zayn had already commiserated with Niall on Thursday night, but since their subject matter was so vastly different, his friend couldn’t provide much help beyond his usual moral support.)  Harry told him it was a bad combination of students but that most of them were really great kids.  Zayn always thought the best of people, and it appeared that Harry evidently had a similar positive outlook. 

His mentor’s advice was to go after the ringleaders of the group and gain their trust.  Harry also gave him a few tips for reeling the class in once they started getting out of hand.  He offered to come in and speak with Zayn’s class if they didn’t get into line in the next few days, but this was the last thing Zayn wanted.  In his mind, it was bad enough he had to ask Harry for advice in the first place. 

The second week of school was much better.  Zayn laid down ground rules and expectations for this class above and beyond his other classes.  Even though Zayn just wanted to be the warm and nurturing teacher he always desired to be, he remained firm and resolute...and it worked.  By the next Thursday, Zayn was sure he had nipped the majority of the disciplinary problems in the bud.

Then came Friday.

Derek, a seventeen-year-old varsity footballer and one such ‘ringleader,’ was flirting loudly with a pretty redhead in the class.  When Zayn asked him to pay attention, the boy had cursed under his breath.   

Zayn didn’t tolerate swearing in his classroom.  To be honest, he didn’t much care for it _outside_ of the classroom either.  He’d been brought up with the notion that the prolific use of foul language was a sign of low intelligence.  Yes, he did his best to tolerate the minor language Niall and some of their other friends used, but Zayn still didn’t like it. 

Besides, Derek had directed the curse at him, and Zayn wasn’t going to put up with that, new teacher or not.  He sent the boy to the principal’s office.

When Derek returned to class about twenty minutes later, Zayn began to rethink the hasty office referral.  Derek’s usual demeanour was bold and brash.  Now, he looked like a timid rabbit as he edgily tip-toed to his seat towards the back of the classroom.  Derek’s face was an ashen white, and he kept wringing his hands nervously.  In short, he appeared absolutely terrified.

Zayn wanted Derek to respect him and the school rules, but he didn’t want the boy to be scared out of his wits.  At one point, Zayn called on him to parrot back a relatively easy response, but Derek just stared back at him wide-eyed, a line of sweat forming across his brow.  It was as if he were shell-shocked.

From then on, Zayn decided he’d do his best to handle as many problems within the classroom as he could. 

When Monday came and there wasn’t a significant change in Derek’s manner, Zayn began to grow concerned.  He questioned the true cause of the boy’s change in attitude.  Zayn had automatically assumed the transformation was a direct result of the office referral, but maybe that was only a small part of a bigger picture.  Maybe there was something going on at home as well.

Whatever it was that was bothering Derek, Zayn felt like it was his duty to at least offer his assistance.  And so, with that thought in mind, he asked Derek to stay after class.  Reluctantly, the footballer agreed. 

Zayn waited until the rest of the students had filed out, then called the student up to his desk.  “Derek, is there anything you’d like to talk to me about?”

“Uh, no…Mr. Malik,” the boy mumbled, shoving his hands in his large pockets and shifting back and forth uncomfortably.  His eyes darted nervously towards the door.  

“Derek, I asked you to stay after today because you just don’t, well, seem like yourself.”  The boy didn’t respond so Zayn ploughed on, ever the optimist.  “I want you to feel that my class is a safe learning environment.  Don’t get me wrong—it’s important that you follow the expectations I outlined the first few days; however, I want you to feel like this class is a place where you can express yourself and your ideas.”

“Yes, Mr. Malik,” Derek responded dutifully, still not looking at his teacher.

Zayn sighed.  “Derek, if there’s anything wrong…anything at all…you _do_ know that our school counsellors would be more than happy to help you work through any problem you may be encountering, whether it’s at home or school, right?” 

The boy grunted, then carefully covered it up with a well-timed cough.  

Zayn tried one last time.  “Listen, if you are being bullied by another student or—”

Derek snorted before immediately clapping both hands over his mouth.  His eyes peered back at Zayn with alarm, an expression on his face that could only be described as one of pure terror.  He flung his hands on the edge of his teacher’s desk.

“Oh God, Mr. Malik— _please_ don’t report me,” he begged, breath ragged.  “I swear I didn’t mean to disrespect you just now.  _Please_ don’t say anything, I-I….”  His voice trailed off as his wild eyes studied Zayn’s face.

Zayn was dumbfounded.

“No Derek, it’s fine,” he managed, and the boy visibly relaxed, taking a step back.  “Please don’t worry so much, okay?”  Zayn sighed in defeat as he straightened up to his full height.  Even so, he was still shorter than the teenager.  “And keep in mind what I said about talking to someone about your problems, yes?  I hate to see any of my students this stressed.”

“Yes, Mr. Malik.  I’ll keep that in mind,” the student obediently replied.

“Thank you, Derek.  You may go,” Zayn said resignedly.  The boy was out the door in a flash. 

Hours later, one thing still nagged Zayn about the conversation.  In fine, he couldn’t figure out Derek’s strange reaction to the suggestion he might be a victim of bullying at the hands of another student.

Apparently, some things about the lives of teenaged boys weren’t meant to be understood…even if Zayn was a teenaged boy only a few years ago. 

 

***

 

Before he knew it, it was time to schedule his initial observation with Dr. Payne.  He had heeded Harry’s advice and had stayed away from Dr. Payne since school began.  Aside from a couple of staff meetings (where Zayn hid in the back) and the odd hallway sighting (where Zayn would duck into random classrooms, closets, and bathrooms), he hadn’t had any contact with his principal at all.

And that was just fine by him.

Needless to say, Zayn was dreading the observation.  He could envision Dr. Payne licking his lips like a predator about to pounce on its prey, delighted to have the opportunity to rip into the new teacher who couldn’t do anything right—in Liam Payne’s book at least.

Zayn signed up for one of the first time slots, wanting to get the unsavoury task over with.  Still, the date came faster than he could have imagined. 

He felt relatively confident about the hour Dr. Payne would be observing (first) and the lesson he planned—especially after Harry gave his approval.  In class, they’d been studying the Indus Valley Civilisation, and the lesson was a culmination of a week-long examination of the Caste System.  The students would be forming two teams to debate the benefits and dangers of social hierarchies.  His mentor had praised the lesson design and gave pointers and suggestions about what their principal would be looking for.  Zayn had taken to heart every single one of them.

Still, it was impossible _not_ to be nervous.  It was his first observation after all, and what he did today could either make him or break him.

Zayn became aware of Dr. Payne’s presence while he was in the middle of taking roll.  There was a marked change in the atmosphere, as if all the oxygen, warmth, and happiness in the room was suddenly trussed out like they’d just been overrun with Dementors straight from Azkaban.

Zayn timidly scanned the classroom until his eyes fell upon the corner of the room where his evaluator had planted himself.  The history teacher attempted a smile in greeting.  Dr. Payne looked up momentarily from his MacBook but didn’t smile back.

Zayn swallowed, took a deep breath, and began the lesson. 

From what Zayn could tell from the few furtive glances he braved in his principal’s direction, Dr. Payne seemed pleased with the lesson.  (Well, he didn’t seem completely _dis_ pleased at any rate.)  Zayn figured he enjoyed the topic—the Caste System.  Dr. Payne liked a good social pecking order, and right now, Zayn was clearly at the bottom of said order.

Zayn started to relax.  He lost himself in his lesson, no longer worrying about the man in the corner or anything aside from his students and the content matter.  But then, about halfway through class, his evaluator closed his laptop and focused his full attention on Zayn. 

It was hard to explain but Dr. Payne was staring at him—not in the usual observation kind of way—but actually _staring_.  In fact, Zayn didn’t think there was a time when Dr. Payne took his penetrating gaze off him, even to watch the students.  Zayn found himself fumbling over a word a couple times, and he hoped his nervousness wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

When the bell rang to signify the end of first hour, Dr. Payne carefully tucked his laptop under his arm and marched towards the front of the classroom.  “Mr. Malik, I expect to see you in my office today at fifteen thirty hours for your post-observation debriefing.” 

Then, Dr. Payne gave an assertive nod and clicked his heels (or maybe Zayn just imagined that last part).  He stopped just inside the doorway, letting the last few students duck past him.  “Oh, and _please_ be prompt, Mr. Malik.  I am also meeting with Mr. Horan this afternoon, and we both know your reputation when it comes to punctuality.” 

With that, he exited the classroom, leaving Zayn to wonder how in the world he was ever going to find the courage to survive a one-on-one meeting with his principal.

 

***

 

3:26…3:27…3:28…3:29.

Zayn took a shuddering breath and rapped softly on the door to the principal’s office.  Ms. Hart shot him a sympathetic look, but instead of emboldening him, it just made Zayn feel like a sheep heading to slaughter.

“Come in!” Dr. Payne barked from the other side and Zayn nearly jumped out of his skin.  Quivering in his boots, Zayn turned the handle and opened the solid wooden door.  It gave a protesting, creaking sound that sounded like a sound effect straight out of a horror flick.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room he’d just entered.  The outer office was bright and cheery with large windows that let in natural light.  Dr. Payne’s office, however, was anything but.  There was nothing decorative or personal about the space.  One wouldn’t even know it was a school administrator’s office if the books on educational theory and assessment techniques weren’t visible on the plain, metal bookshelf.  Dark panelling adorned the walls, and blinds covered the only source of light beyond the yellow glow of the green banker’s lamp upon his desk. 

And that was where Dr. Payne was sat, head down, seemingly absorbed in the paperwork in front of him.  There was a stately ebony and gold nameplate before him which read _Dr. Liam Payne, Principal._

“Please have a seat, Mr. Malik,” he instructed without glancing up.  Gulping, Zayn did so, finding a chair at the small hexagon-shaped table towards the back of the office.  Dr. Payne soon rose from his desk and shut the door before joining the history teacher at the table.  Zayn figured the closed door was customary since they were discussing confidential, personnel matters; however, this knowledge didn’t make him feel any more at ease. 

“Shall we get started?” Dr. Payne stated more than asked.  

Zayn nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.  He prepared himself for the worst as he waited for the man who held the fate of his teaching career to continue.

“You are a young, inexperienced, novice teacher; yet, I do not feel that you are without merit.  Your…how shall I say it?”  He leaned in closer.  “Your _potential_ is quite profound, Mr. Malik.”  He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.  “With the proper guidance from Mr. Styles and, well, myself, I think you could become an outstanding educator.” 

Zayn sat there blinking for a moment, trying to process what he just heard.  He had been all set with a ready apology, a promise that he’d do better next time.  Now, he struggled for something to say in the alternate universe he’d just been transported into.

“Th-thank you?”

The corners of Dr. Payne’s lips curled up, and he pushed a paper towards Zayn.  “I just need you to sign this then, indicating we both agree you are making satisfactory progress.”

Zayn glanced over the document, relieved more than he should have been to see the appropriate box checked, and signed it before his principal changed his mind. 

“Please read over the observation notes I will be e-mailing you this afternoon,” Dr. Payne continued after Zayn handed the pen back to him.  “They outline the small improvements I would like you to make before our next observation in the second quarter.  You may choose to review these with Mr. Styles if you wish.  In fact, I would highly recommend you doing so as he may be able to offer you additional insights.” 

“Yes…yes, of course.  I want nothing more than to improve as a teacher,” Zayn declared with earnestness.  “Is-is that all, sir?”

“No, I have one more matter to discuss with you, Mr. Malik.”  He loosened the knot of his necktie a smidge before clearing his throat.  If Zayn didn’t know better, he’d say the man was nervous.

But that was completely ridiculous.

“Remember, teaching is a noble profession and you want to ensure your appearance isn’t at odds with that notion.”  Dr. Payne’s eyes scanned over him, and Zayn wished he’d put more thought into the outfit he chose for that day.  “I would suggest wearing more…professional and form-flattering clothes.  I’m sure those oversized polos and baggy khakis would do at university, but you are no longer a university student, Mr. Malik.  You are supposed to be a role model to the students here at Payne Academy and that entails looking your best.”

Zayn was taken aback.  He’d never gotten a comment like that before.  “Am I not dressing professionally, sir?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that, Mr. Malik,” he replied, massaging his chin thoughtfully.  It struck Zayn then that Dr. Payne might almost be handsome if his jaw wasn’t always set in a scowl and his eyes weren’t routinely clouded with unkindness.  “Let me put it this way…I have high expectations when it comes to the dress code at this school.  I believe one should dress for success, as it were, and I believe you are selling yourself short.”

“Yes, I understand, sir.” 

“Good,” he replied, clearly pleased.  There was the ghost of a smile before the cold professionalism returned.  “Thank you, Mr. Malik.  You are dismissed.”  He stood up brusquely and carried the signed document back to his desk.  He seemed to forget Zayn was even there, immediately refocusing his attention on the files littered across the top of his desk.

Zayn barrelled out of the office, forgetting to watch where he was going as he collided with another body right outside Dr. Payne’s door.

“Whoa there!” a familiar voice chuckled, capturing Zayn in his arms. 

“Sorry, Ni,” Zayn said sheepishly. “Didn’t see you.”

“That’s okay, long as you warmed him up for me, Zed,” Niall offered good-humouredly.  Ms. Hart giggled in the background and Niall winked back at her. 

“I uh….” 

“Everything’s okay, right?” Niall whispered.  He placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, friendly blue eyes searching Zayn’s.

“Yeah,” Zayn admitted hesitantly.  “Everything is…great?” 

Niall grinned and gave Zayn’s shoulder a squeeze.  “You sound like you’re a bit dazed, mate.  You weren’t _really_ expecting bad news were you?”

“I mean, I—”

“The time is now fifteen forty- _seven_ , Mr. Horan.  Please do not tell me that Mr. Malik’s unpunctuality is rubbing off on you,” Dr. Payne complained wearily.  “I would suggest you step into this office if you wish to hear my assessment of your lesson today—that is, if you are still interested in keeping your current position at this school.” 

Dr. Payne’s gaze slowly shifted from Niall’s face to the lingering hand he had on Zayn’s shoulder.  Zayn found himself stepping to the side, putting some space between himself and his friend.  He didn’t want their principal to get the wrong idea.

With an impatient gesture, Dr. Payne ushered Niall into his office.  Zayn almost tripped over his feet as he scurried to get back to his classroom as rapidly as humanly possible.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! I've been travelling during the holiday (and just busy af), but I made a push to get this new chapter out to you because there were so many lovely comments on the last one. Sooo...let me know what you thought about the Ziam meeting in this chapter. Were you surprised at all? Any characters you particularly like or dislike? What do you think will happen next? ~Maree xx


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Where do you buy ‘appropriate’ work attire anyway?”  Zayn stood in the centre of the shopping mall, completely and utterly out of his comfort zone.  Usually he just let his mom buy clothes for him.  It was easier, and she liked doing it.  It made her happy.

Zayn liked making people happy.

But Dr. Payne had intimated that Zayn didn’t look professional enough, didn’t look the part of a teacher, and he probably had a point.  Zayn’s wardrobe was too young and too preppy the more he thought about it; it needed an update.

“I dunno…fancy trying Macy’s?” Niall suggested, and Zayn figured it sounded as good as the next shop.  Zayn let Niall lead the way because although neither of them had visited the mall since they moved to Wisteria Falls, his best mate had an innate ability to find his way anywhere—especially if it involved shopping or food.

They entered the store which was already terrifyingly decked-out in wreaths, ornaments, and other Christmas decorations.   Once they managed to powerwalk past the perfume counters without being accosted, Zayn immediately spotted a rack of designer clothing that looked like it was straight out of Harry’s Styles’ close—all embroidered suit jackets and the like.  He checked a couple of price tags and almost fainted dead away.

“You’re in the wrong section, bro,” Niall chuckled.  “Those are for birds anyway, ya git.  Men’s is upstairs.”

They spent the next hour perusing the different designs.  Zayn decided to go for a tailored, sophisticated look, and a sales assistant helped point them in the right direction.  Zayn tried on outfit after outfit, and Niall patiently waited outside the fitting room, giving his verdict on each and every item. 

One time when Zayn stepped out of the fitting room, Niall handed him several pairs of jeans.  “Try these on, mate.”

Zayn wrinkled his nose.  “They’re skinny jeans.  You know I don’t wear skinny jeans, Niall.”

“Well, it’s time you start.  The ones you’re wearing now are total crap, mate; ought to be banned as a crime against humanity.”

“Hey, my mom picked those out!”

Niall wiggled his eyebrows.  “My point exactly, Zed.”

Zayn couldn’t help but laugh at that.  “But I can’t wear them to work so why bother?”

“Yes, you can.  Tomlinson wears skinnier jeans than that every Friday without fail so don’t tell me you can’t.  Besides,” Niall said, eyes twinkling mischievously, “you need to have something to wear for your date with Ed.”

“Date with Ed?” Zayn echoed, completely baffled.

“Yeah, the one he’s gonna ask you on once he finds the bollocks to do it.”  Niall grinned cheekily.  “Now, just try ‘em on already.”

Zayn did as he was told, almost dying of embarrassment when Niall declared that if Ed wasn’t already planning on asking Zayn out, the jeans would do the trick.  He decided to buy a couple of pairs to make Niall happy and because, well, he didn’t look half-bad in them.

While Zayn dumped his new swag on the counter, Niall flirted with the young, attractive girl behind said counter.  Zayn looked at her name badge:  Lainey.  She looked like a Lainey with her pouty lips and vivacious eyes.  She also looked a few years younger than them—probably still in college.  Zayn side-eyed Niall, but the man wasn’t paying attention. 

“This is just a stepping stone,” the blonde told Niall, “my dream is to be on the stage one day.”  She sighed wistfully, looking up with a dreamy expression as if she were imagining her name on some distant marquee.

“So,” Zayn started casually, “are you studying theatre at one of the local colleges then?”  She seemed to notice him for the first time.  “I hear Wisteria Falls Community College has a good programme.”

She giggled prettily.  “No, I’m still in high school, but my school does have an awesome theatre programme.  “I’m a senior at Payne Academy—ever hear of it?” she asked and the question immediately sent Niall into a violent coughing fit. 

“Really?” Zayn responded with enthusiasm, ignoring the dirty look Niall was sending his way.  “What a coincidence because we’re both teachers at Payne Academy!” 

“Um, I think we should be going, Zed—Mr. Malik, I mean,” he spoke forcefully, tugging on Zayn’s arm in spite of the fact that they hadn’t even checked out yet.  Niall must have realised this belatedly because he suddenly pushed Zayn’s items further up on the counter. 

Lainey got the hint and started to ring up Zayn’s purchases while she chatted.  “Wow, you two don’t look old enough to be teachers.  That’s so cool!  So what do you teach?” 

“History,” Zayn replied, “and culinary arts,” he added, pointing in Niall’s direction.

“Oh you must be Mr. Horan, then!” she exclaimed, beaming at Niall.  “A couple of my friends are in your class, and they’re just in love with…um…your class,” she finished awkwardly. 

“Well, hope they still feel the same by the end of the semester,” Niall cracked, loosening up again.

“You know,” Lainey said breathily, “I’ve always been wildly interested in the art of cooking.”

Zayn didn’t like where this was going.  “Thought you said you were into acting,” he reminded her as he collected his shopping bags and receipt.

Lainey blinked sweetly.  “Well, cooking has always been my secret passion.  I was actually thinking about signing up for a class next semester—”

“Oh, Mr. Horan,” Zayn cut her off, “I just remember we have that urgent matter to attend to, you know the one….”  Zayn gave him a pointed look.

“Oh…uh, yes!  That’s right, Mr. Malik,” he responded after a beat.  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Lainey,” he called as Zayn practically dragged him out of the store.

“Bloody hell, that was close,” Niall admitted.  “I can’t believe she’s a student at Payne.  Yikes.”

“Major yikes,” Zayn agreed as he found a bench and collapsed in it with his bags.

“Niall plopped down beside him.  “Yeah, I want to be more careful, I suppose.  Almost got myself into a proper mess there.”

“Yeah, the last thing you need is to be accidentally dating one of the students,” Zayn snorted.

“What?  I was just—”

“…Being a complete flirt,” Zayn finished for him. 

Niall was about to defend himself but then just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.  “Yeah, basically,” he acknowledged, bursting into a laughter that became contagious.  Before long, they were both doubled over on the mall bench.

After a minute, Zayn inhaled deeply through his nose and tried to calm himself.  “You know, even though that was totally hilarious, it could have turned out _really_ badly,” he said soberly.  “I hate to say it, but you do need to grow up a bit, Niall.  We are supposed to be role models for the students, after all.”

“Jaysus, you could be Dr. Payne,” Niall muttered.  “In my evaluation meeting he basically said I was smashing it except….”

“Except?”

“Except I need to make sure the students see me as a teacher and not as a friend.”

“Well look at it this way,” Zayn said light-heartedly, “at least you didn’t have to go out and buy a new wardrobe.”  He was expecting Niall to laugh, but for some reason, his friend seemed to wax contemplative all of a sudden. 

“What is it, Ni?” Zayn prodded.

“It’s…um…nothing,” Niall dismissed, running his thumb along his lower lip thoughtfully. 

“Come on, tell me,” Zayn encouraged, scooting closer to him on the bench.  His best mate seemed to be having an inner battle about whether or not he should divulge what was on his mind.  “Niall, do you remember what we promised each other the summer after fifth-grade?”

“That was the summer we built the treehouse out back in the forest behind our houses, wasn’t it?” he mused fondly.  They both paused for a moment, thinking back to the days when life seemed so simple and…perfect.

“Yes, but do you recall what we promised each other?”

“Yes, Zed, we…we promised we’d never keep secrets,” he answered hesitantly.

“Well?”

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” he caved.  “It’s just…stupid, that’s all.”  He swung his legs, scuffing his heels against the floor before facing his friend.  “Zed, don’t you think it’s a little odd?  You know, Dr. Payne asking you to dress a certain way and all?”

“You’re just salty because you used to dress this way a few years back,” Zayn teased, confused that Niall had been so averse to asking him something as banal as this.  He’d expected much worse with the way the Irishman was carrying on. 

“Yeah but my clothes at least fit,” Niall joked before frowning again.  “But I meant more that I was surprised he’d say anything about the way you dress and all.  It’s very personal, that critique.”

“Appearance is a category on the evaluation form so I would assume it has to be fair game, right?”

“You’re probably right,” he murmured absently, still not sounding completely convinced. 

“Of course I am.”  Zayn bounced to his feet, relieved there wasn’t anything of real import troubling his friend.  “Now where should we go next?”

Niall shook off his brooding expression.  “I say we get you a proper haircut and style.”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “Is this to help me look more professional or to help me get a date with a certain ginger music teacher?”

Niall chuckled wickedly, swatting at Zayn’s arm as he took one of his shopping bags. “There’s nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone, mate.  Not a bloody thing.”

 

***

 

Ed’s cheeks reddened, clashing with his hair.  “Um, so Zayn—I was thinking you could maybe come to mine after school today?” he proposed, scratching at the scruff on his chin.  “We could plan that collaborative music history class we discussed a while back.” 

They’d just found a table in the teachers’ lounge—Zayn, Ed, and Niall—when the music teacher made the suggestion.  Zayn wasn’t in the habit of eating with his fellow teachers every day.  Sometimes he found it difficult to pull himself away from his classroom in the middle of the day, but Niall was right:  Zayn _did_ need to get away from it all for at least a few minutes each day if only for his mental well-being.

“Well, what d’ya say?” Ed timidly prompted.

“I’d love to get started on that syllabus,” Zayn smiled, setting his lunch on the table.  “What time were you thinking?” 

“About four?  Oh, and Niall,” Ed added almost as an afterthought, “You’re invited as well.”

“Am I now?” Niall questioned amusedly.  “Something tells me I might be more like a third wheel, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh no, not at all!” Ed exclaimed, seemingly aghast.  “I mean I certainly wasn’t suggesting that Zayn come over to my flat for any other reason than to….”  He swallowed.  “Shite, I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”

Niall laughed boisterously, slapping him on the back.  “It’s alright, mate—whatever your intentions.  Zed’s old enough to make his own decisions…well, most of the time anyway.”

Zayn was about to make a reproving remark when his eyes and ears were diverted to a sudden commotion in the doorway.  That’s when he saw Louis and Harry walk in with trays from the cafeteria.  The two were practically attached at the hip, sniggering loudly about something or other—and Louis, obnoxiously so.

Although Harry was his mentor, Zayn still felt a little uncomfortable about conversing with the English teacher on a purely social basis.  It probably stemmed from the fact that Harry was the superstar teacher around the school.  It wasn’t hard to notice that the other faculty members treated Harry differently.  He was special.  He was the one who had won an award from the state.  He was Dr. Payne’s “fair-haired boy.” 

And Zayn was a novice teacher.  He clearly wasn’t on the same plane as Harry…not yet anyway.

Zayn’s eyes followed his mentor as he ambled towards a table with teachers Zayn didn’t know.  Louis stopped his friend just before he sat down:

“Hey, Styles, my boy…what do you say we join the newbies’ table?”  Louis’ high-pitched voice pierced through the din despite the fact he was clear across the lounge.  “Hey, newbies!” he shouted and everyone in the crowded lounge looked up.  “You mind if we sit with you—Harold and I?”

Niall frowned slightly, but Ed looked beyond delighted as if he were honoured by the veteran teachers’ mere presence. 

“Oh my Gosh, _the_ Harry Styles is going to sit at our table!” Ed gushed, much to Niall’s chagrin.

Zayn had thought that teaching would be different from high school and even college where the popular kids ruled the roost, but apparently, it wasn’t all that different…at all. 

The only real difference, as far as Zayn could see, was that now the school bully was the principal. 

And admittedly, Zayn had received a more than decent review of his first observed lesson, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Louis sauntered over, not waiting for an affirmative response from any of the ‘newbies.’   The drama teacher placed his tray next to Zayn’s lunch, shoving Niall’s plate out of the way in the process.  “Budge up,” he ordered.

Zayn was flabbergasted because there were three vacant chairs already on the other side of the large, round table.  Harry was content to set his tray down and sit in one of these, but Louis evidently wished to sit between Niall and him for some inexplicable reason.

“I said budge up, Horan,” Louis repeated, and Zayn bit his lip nervously.  For a moment, he was afraid Niall was going to refuse and make some snarky comment, but then the culinary arts teacher reluctantly obliged, scooting a few inches to the right.  Louis grabbed a chair from a neighbouring table and boorishly lodged it into the narrow space.  

If Zayn didn’t know better, he would swear that Louis was trying to wind Niall up.  One glance at his best friend told Zayn that if doing so was Louis’ intention, his plan was working perfectly.

Just when Zayn thought the current circumstances couldn’t get any more awkward, their principal breezed into the teachers’ lounge.  A hush immediately fell over the room at the unlikely visitor who, after quickly scanning the lounge, found his target.

“Ah, there you are!” Principal Payne bellowed, bee-lining straight for their table.  

“Ten bucks says he wants to speak with Styles,” Louis stage-whispered, an irreverent smirk playing at his lips.

“Mr. Styles, could I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course, sir!”  Harry chirruped, immediately jumping to his feet and following their principal into the corner of the lounge by the kitchen area.

“Man, I must be psychic,” Louis joked, opening his soda can while unabashedly staring at Harry and their principal.  Zayn followed his sightline and watched as Harry nodded his head, evidently agreeing to whatever Dr. Payne asked him.  Zayn quickly turned away, however, as the pair started back towards the table.

“Mr. Horan and Mr. Malik!”

Zayn instantly looked up when he heard his principal address him.  Dr. Payne seemed to do a double-take then, eyes laser-ing over Zayn’s changed appearance.  It made the new teacher feel a little self-conscious, and he wished he hadn’t let Niall and that stylist gang up on him at the salon, convincing him he ought to get some trendy haircut when a trim would’ve sufficed.

Dr. Payne blinked but thankfully didn’t say anything negative regarding Zayn’s appearance.  “Right.  You two will need to stop by my office today at your convenience to sign a few forms.  It should only take a few minutes of your time.”

Zayn inwardly cringed but at least it sounded like something quick and painless.

Mr. Horan,” Dr. Payne added almost as an afterthought, “just in case Ms. Hart has not informed you yet, you’ll have a new student starting this afternoon in your seventh hour class.”

“Oh?” Niall returned, jotting down a note to himself on a napkin.  “Is the student brand-new to Payne Academy?”

“No, she is transferring from another class.  Usually I don’t allow transfers at this point in the school year, but there were…uh…special circumstances involved,” Dr. Payne explained.  “And although her father happens to be on the board, I want you to know that this fact did not weigh heavily in my decision process.”  He straightened his already stiff collar.  “We must make exceptions once in a while for the positive well-being of our students, mustn’t we?  After all, one _does_ try to be flexible, you know.”

Louis let out a barely audible snort but was wise enough to cover it up directly afterwards with a cough.

“Something caught in your throat, Mr. Tomlinson?” Dr. Payne questioned him, eyes narrowing.

The drama teacher smiled innocently.  “Just a little tickle, sir.”

“Could you tell me the student’s name, sir?” Niall asked, ignoring the teacher next to him.

“Yes, her name is Lainey Anderson,” Dr. Payne answered, and Zayn dropped the spoon for his yoghurt.  It clattered to the ground at the same time Niall spat out his water.

 _Lainey_ Anderson.  It could just be a coincidence that Niall’s new student had the same first name as the checkout girl at Macy’s, the one Niall had been unknowingly flirting with.  The blonde _had_ said she was a senior at Payne so it certainly seemed possible that this was the same girl.  On the other hand, the name wasn’t uncommon.  Maybe Zayn was just jumping to conclusions.

But the uneasy look on his best friend’s face told him Niall was thinking the exact same thing.

Dr. Payne arched his brow lazily.  “Everything alright, Mr. Horan?  Mr. Malik?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused. 

“Well then, please carry on with your lunch.”  Dr. Payne then stooped to pick up the utensil Zayn had dropped, clasping the handle between his thumb and pointer finger as if picking up a used tissue or some other undesirable object.  He unceremoniously released it on the table in front of Zayn, sighed loudly, and exited the lounge.

“As you were!” Louis shouted as soon as he was gone and several teachers chuckled at his cheekiness.  The normal level of chatter returned to the lounge as Louis turned his attention on Harry.  “So what did the old boy want?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, Styles!” Louis whinged.  “He dragged you away from your _lunch_ , for crying out loud!  It had to be _something_.”

“Fine, you’re right; it was something,” Harry acknowledged.

“Ha! I knew it!” Louis cheered triumphantly, eyes lighting up.  “Well, what did he want then?”

“None of your business, Tommo,” Harry said good-naturedly. 

Zayn couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and Harry peeked up, the hint of a smile on his lips as he winked at his mentee.

Louis’ hand flew to his heart dramatically.  "’How sharper than a serpent's tooth to have a thankless’ best mate!"

“Stop butchering Shakespeare,” Harry chided.  “Leave that to your students in your next production.” 

The table burst into laughter—especially Ed—but the ginger ceased laughing the instant Louis gave him the ‘evil eye.’ 

Harry seemed to notice Ed for the first time even though he was sitting right beside him.  “Hey, you’re one of the music teachers, aren’t you?” he asked, smiling.  “Ed, right?”  Ed just nodded and gawked at the English teacher like he was a celebrity…which he kind of was—in the school anyway. 

Louis gave a long-suffering sigh.  “You really do need to get with it, Styles.  Maybe show up to a social committee meeting once in a while.”

“But I’m not on social committee, Tommo.”

“Details,” Louis declared, waving the ‘excuse’ off.  “And Malik…I’ve been meaning to ask what the bloody hell happened to you?”

Zayn knitted his eyebrows together.  “I’m not on social committee either—that I know of.”

“No, no, no,” Louis tsked.  “Nothing to do with social committee, son.  Strike the words ‘social’ and ‘committee’ from your brain for the present because we’ve far more important things to discuss.”

“Such as?” Harry prompted, voice laced with scepticism. 

“Such as how Malik, here, looks like a changed man.”

“Changed?” Zayn echoed as all eyes at the table focused on him.

“Fit.  Polished.  GQ-esque, I’d venture,” Louis clucked approvingly.  “And that quiff does wonders for your cheekbones, Malik.  I thought your jawline was your best feature but apparently, I was in error.  It’s definitely the cheekbones.”  He pinched Zayn’s cheek before nudging Niall with his elbow.  “Wouldn’t you say, Horan?”

“I’m sure you’re right, Tomlinson,” Niall grumbled back, scooting a few inches away in his chair.

“Well, um, thanks,” Zayn managed, feeling more than a little self-conscious again.  “Niall convinced me to get it cut and helped me pick out some new clothes and stuff,” Zayn confessed.

“I’m sure he did,” Louis smirked, sharing an ‘I-told-you-so’ look with Harry who pretended not to notice.

Niall rolled his eyes.  “Not to change the subject or anything, but I just found out we’ve got another observation coming up, Zed,” he declared and Zayn groaned inwardly.  “Ed, guess you get to skip this one, ya lucky bastard.”

“When’s it due?” Ed asked, dipping a wad of French fries in the ketchup-mayonnaise combo he’d just whipped up.  “Hey, could you pass the mustard?”  Zayn handed it over and the man proceeded to squirt a yellow glob on top of the condiment concoction he’d already created.

“Lesson plan’s due by mid-October,” Niall revealed, distractedly eying Ed’s tray with dismay, “and the observation needs to be scheduled directly after that, I guess.” 

“Crap, I didn’t realise the deadline was coming up so soon, Zayn,” Harry admitted, his brow furrowed.  “They generally give you a bit of breathing room between observations, but this way, you’ll be able to get it over with faster,” he offered, trying to put the information in a positive light.

“No worries, Harry.” 

“I feel like I’ve botched my job as a mentor—not catching that and all,” Harry tutted, clearly upset with himself.  “Thanks for the reminder, Niall; Zayn’s lucky you’ve got his back.” 

Louis snickered.  “Oh, yeah, Horan’s DEFINITELY got that boy’s backside, if y’know what I mean.”

Embarrassed by the rude comment, Zayn stabbed a large piece of lettuce and shoved it into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to say anything or look at anyone—especially Louis Tomlinson. 

Upon tasting his salad (strawberry poppy seed with slices of grilled chicken), all thoughts of Louis’ badgering disappeared.  It was fantastic, just like everything his best friend prepared.  “Niall, this salad is _delicious._   I could eat it forever, bro.  Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” 

Louis cupped his hands to his face as he mouthed something across the table to Harry.  The English teacher descended into a curious coughing fit, then took a deep breath, lips twitching mysteriously.

Louis looked satisfied with himself but didn’t say a word.

Wanting to avoid the awkward silence, Zayn turned his attention to the drink he’d brought—a freckled lemonade with honey and something else Zayn would have to ask Niall about later.  He slurped it through the large straw, Louis and Ed watching him curiously for some reason. 

“So, how’s it taste, Malik?” Louis inquired in an over-polite tone. 

Niall shot Louis a glare.  “Zed, don’t answer him.”

“Niall—don’t be so modest!” Zayn shushed him.  It wasn’t like Niall to be so humble regarding his culinary talents, but Zayn figured he was probably slightly intimidated by the more experienced teachers.  “It’s a freckled lemonade,” Zayn informed Louis.  “It’s so sweet and refreshing.  The honey slides down your throat and feels like nothing else.  It’s like I just can’t suck it down fast enough!”

At that, Louis started laughing so hard his eyes began to water.  Harry seemed to suffer from the same curious disease.  He laid his head on the table, and his shoulders shook as he attempted to control his own laughter.

Niall’s face turned red; he looked absolutely furious as Harry finally picked his head up, eyelashes wet with tears.  The English teacher took a deep, shaky breath but made the mistake of looking at Louis, and they both lost it again.  Harry, at least, seemed to feel badly about whatever it was they found so hysterical and tried to cover his face with his hands.

One thing was obvious at this point:  whatever the joke was, it was clearly at Zayn’s expense.

Niall, in full protective mode, spat out, “oi, why don’t you two get on yer trolley, then, if you’re going to whisper rude comments across the table.”

Louis snorted.  “Aw, come on, man.  We’re just having a bit of a laugh.”

Harry looked contrite now.  “Tommo, let it be.”

Zayn went back to slurping his lemonade and tried to ignore the man next to him.

“Yeah, definitely the cheekbones,” Louis snickered enigmatically, and Zayn was so done with the drama teacher and whatever he was going on about by this point. 

“Oi, Tomlinson,” Niall grunted, “you can go fly a kite—and yes, that also has a double meaning.”

Louis turned to Harry, cocking his head to the side as if he were amused.  “This kid’s got some hutzpah—he’s growing on me, Styles.  I mean, he’s growing on me like a wart, but there you have it.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Niall shot back, and Louis smiled delightedly.

Harry’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two, then turned to Zayn.  “Sorry about that.  Anyway…why don’t you come to my classroom after school?  I can help brainstorm some ideas for your next observation, point you in the right direction and all that.”

“No,” Niall replied obstinately, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Niall, he’s my mentor,” Zayn reminded his friend.  He had the tendency to be overprotective at times, but this was ridiculous.

“I promise I won’t allow _this one”_ —Harry jabbed his thumb at Louis—“past the door while Zayn’s there, alright?  Besides,” Harry confided, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “it’s my role as Zayn’s mentor to assist him with these things, and I would prefer not to have to tell Dr. Payne that you’re obstructing me from doing my job.”  Harry and Niall glared at one another as if in an Old West showdown, and Louis let out a low whistle.

“Zed, I thought you were going to Ed’s after school today?” Niall put forward finally.  Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn saw Harry raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. 

Zayn slapped his forehead.  “Shoot—I completely forgot!  Harry, can we meet another day?  What about tomorrow…or Friday?”

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t,” Harry replied.  “I’m attending the board meeting tomorrow afternoon with Dr. Payne, and then I need to leave straight after school on Friday.”

“Harold is planning this ghastly, loved-up weekend with Liz—some kind of spa getaway or whatever,” Louis expounded, gagging.  “Sounds utterly revolting, doesn’t it?  I’ve been shitting bricks, worrying about when Eleanor’s gonna find out.”

“Sounds romantic,” Zayn offered.

“Hope so,” Harry said, smiling, “it’s our anniversary.”

“Yeah, but what Styles doesn’t get,” Louis complained, “is that Liz is going to tell Eleanor about how bloody wonderful it was, and then I’m going to have to do something comparable for our anniversary in December.” 

Harry scrunched his nose.  “I thought your anniversary was in November, mate?”

“Shit,” Louis cussed loudly, evidently forgetting they were in a school for a moment.  “Is it really, Styles?” 

Harry nodded, then shook his head.  “As I was saying, Zayn, if we don’t get together today, I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait until next week.”

“Go ahead,” Ed spoke up when Zayn looked towards him for permission.  “I don’t want to muck up your chance at getting a good evaluation.  Our plans can wait.”  Zayn silently thanked him with his eyes, and Ed shrugged it off.

“That would be sick if we could meet today, Harry,” Zayn told his mentor.  “I mean, if you’re willing, I’d _love_ to come!”

The bell rang, masking Louis’ obnoxious guffaws.  Niall shot the man a look of pure repulsion as they cleared the table, but Louis just deflected it with a shrug, cryptically commenting: 

“You _really_ want to have a talk with him about that, Horan, just saying.”

 

***

 

(Liam’s POV)

 

From the moment he set eyes upon Zayn Malik last spring, Liam knew he had to have him.

Zayn was an exceptional teaching candidate—a valedictorian who had graduated with highest honours.  Liam knew he would be sought after by many other administrators from across the state.

And though he was young, inexperienced, and well, _distractively attractive_ , Liam decided to pounce on him.  That is, Liam decided to hire him before some other less-deserving principal at some less-deserving school beat him to it.

Because, after all, Payne Academy deserved the _very_ best.

His intentions from the beginning of the recruiting process had been to obtain the highest quality young teachers to fill the few positions they were adding for the fall.  Niall Horan was an excellent addition to the Payne faculty.  Moreover, hiring him almost guaranteed Zayn’s acceptance of the more-than-generous initial teaching contract offered to him.

Against his better judgment, Liam found himself slightly infatuated with Zayn.  The young teacher’s innocence and intelligence attracted him equally.  At first, Liam resisted this infatuation.  He resented Zayn for producing these feelings in him, feelings that were so out of place for his position.  Liam almost hated him for it. 

Eventually, Liam resigned himself to watching and admiring the history teacher from afar.  Even so, Liam couldn’t stand to think of him with another man (or woman).  He couldn’t bear to imagine someone else touching that delicate, olive skin.  The mere thought of another man kissing those pouty, sultry lips was unfathomable.

_Zayn was his._

Indeed, Zayn had signed a contract stating he belonged to Payne…to _Liam_ , hadn’t he?  But now that Sheeran, the little insect, had stepped in, Liam knew he had to act and act quickly.  He could no longer sit and watch from the side-lines. 

Liam wanted Zayn.  He wanted to raise Zayn up on a pedestal.  This feeling, however, was almost as intense as his desire to wreck the boy.  

He watched Zayn now as he filled out some paperwork in his office.  Liam noticed how his tawny eyes flicked back and forth between the pages, the way he chewed on his lower lip as he considered his responses.  It was mesmerising, and Liam would have given anything to take him on his desk right then and there.

_Anything._

But he knew he had to restrain his urges for now.  It was too soon.  Zayn wasn’t ready.  Like everything else in his life, Liam had pre-planned and scheduled how he expected this to play out.  Liam would slowly gain Zayn’s trust, slowly bend the young teacher to his will, slowly corrupt that innocent, child-like soul. 

It would take time, but it was time Liam was more than willing to spend.  Liam was a patient man—for the most part.  He could wait a bit longer for a prize so coveted. 

It would take work and commitment on his part, but that was only fair.  After all, Liam was a demanding administrator.  He wouldn’t let Zayn rest until he had proven himself in every way he saw fit.  Liam licked his lips just thinking about all his plans for the young teacher. 

The best part was that Zayn had no idea what was in store for him…and that was _precisely_ how Liam wanted it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies!  
> This term has been kicking my arse, but I think I've got everything (mostly) figured out. For now, I'm going to plan on updating every other Sunday. This may change in a couple of months, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging.
> 
> Someone asked how long this fic is going to be, and the answer is long. Over 100k. I'll keep you updated as we get further along.
> 
> Please feel free to ask me anything at all about the story. I answer every question/comment I receive (even if it takes a few days), and I love interacting with you all. Also, if you have a personal comment/question or just want to fangirl with me about Zayn/Liam/OT5, you can find the link to my tumblr below. :)
> 
> Finally, if you're bored waiting for the next instalment, you can check out my other (completed) chaptered Ziam fic: [All this Delusion in our Heads ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864051/chapters/17958436)  
> Let me know what you think if you decide to give it a go. Much love! ~Maree xx


	5. Chapter 5

 

On Wednesday after school, Zayn met with Harry as planned.  They went over the expectations for the next lesson plan and reviewed the comments Dr. Payne had sent after Zayn’s first observation.  There seemed to be a never-ending pile of forms to complete, of information to examine, and they attacked it all vigorously.

Zayn didn’t realise how late it was getting until Niall called, nagging that dinner was getting cold and how Zayn should’ve rung him earlier.  Harry thought this was hysterical—until he received the exact same phone call from his fiancée five minutes later.  Zayn could hear her griping that Harry was going to ruin their weekend holiday if he didn’t get his a** home by eight. 

(They wrapped up quickly after that.)

Harry kindly offered to drop Zayn at his flat, and they headed out to the nearly-deserted faculty lot.  The lights of a white luxury car flashed as they approached, and Zayn’s jaw dropped.

“You have a Mercedes?” Zayn asked, stunned.  “I can’t believe you can afford a Mercedes on a teacher’s salary.” 

“It’s second-hand.”

“Vintage, more like,” Zayn scoffed. 

“Well, I make a comfortable salary,” Harry admitted, looking more than a little embarrassed.  “This is a high-profile private school, and the board can offer salary increases and incentives to the top teachers—just something to keep in mind.”

Zayn’s eyes drifted towards the only other car in the car park.  “Well then, whoever else is still working at this hour must also be a ‘top teacher’ because that’s a freaking Porsche, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s Dr. Payne’s actually,” Harry informed him, nodding towards the sleek black sports car.  “It’s new and don’t tell Tomlinson,” he chuckled, “just in case he gets any ideas if you know what I mean.”

“Dr. Payne’s car?”  It never really occurred to Zayn that their principal had a car, or a house, or a life outside of Payne Academy.  Then again, Zayn was one of those kids who’d always been convinced that their teachers slept in their classrooms at night. 

In all fairness, Dr. Payne _always_ seemed to be at the school.  Zayn just assumed the administrator curled up on the couch in his office—or better yet, had some secret lair behind his bookshelf, Green Goblin style.

“Yeah, he stays here pretty late most nights,” Harry said, seemingly reading Zayn’s thoughts as the Mercedes’ engine purred to life.  “To be honest, he doesn’t have much of a personal life.  Payne Academy is _everything_ to him; that’s an easy rut to fall into, as you know.”  He shot a meaningful look at his mentee.  “I’d wager we’re all cut from the same cloth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I simply mean that I think we all enjoy our profession, enjoy working hard, and enjoy the recognition and perks that go with being the best.  Am I wrong?”

“No,” Zayn said guiltily.

“Well, it’s important that you try to find some balance, yeah?  I found it with Liz; she keeps me from working myself into the ground.”  Harry licked his lips and checked the rear-view mirror.  “Maybe you have something similar with Niall?”

“We’re not dating, I told you,” Zayn said curtly.

“No, I’m just talking about someone who cares about you, that’s all,” Harry quickly recovered. “So,” he began after a moment’s pause, “have you ever been in a serious relationship, Zayn?”

“Huh?”  To say that Zayn was taken aback by the direct, personal question would be an understatement.

Harry cleared his throat and stared straight ahead at the road.  “Sorry, you don’t need to answer that; I was just curious, that’s all.”

Zayn felt bad now.  Harry was just trying to make conversation, just endeavouring to get to know him better, and he was being a jerk.  “No, no…that’s okay.  The truth is there’s not much to tell,” Zayn sighed.  “I was never really into girls when all the other boys were.  I went on a few dates with the ‘right girls’ in high school and college, but they never really turned into anything more than that, you know?”

“I can tell you why,” Harry confided, glancing at the passenger seat as they stopped at a traffic light. 

“Because I’m gay,” Zayn deadpanned, and Harry’s eyes widened.  “I figured Louis told you,” he explained, embarrassed.

“He did,” the other teacher acknowledged, “but I was going to say that nothing came of those dates because you’re a perfectionist and an over-achiever.  I think that’s the best way to be—especially as you start your career.”  He looked over at Zayn again and winked.  “You’ll find someone one day who can accept that, someone who values the same things—pushes you even.  In the meantime, just be patient…and don’t overwork yourself.  You can’t be Superman all the time, yeah?”  Harry chuckled, adding, “or that Dr. Octopus bloke you told me about.”

“I can’t?” Zayn asked cheekily.  “That’s good because I’d want to be Iron Man anyway—or the Hulk; that’d be sick.”

“You really are a proper nerd, aren’t you?” Harry chuckled, and Zayn could feel his cheeks redden.  “You remind me of someone else who’s an even bigger nerd I suspect.”

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Harry replied a bit enigmatically.  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Zayn gazing out the window for the rest of the short drive.

Zayn hadn’t even inserted his key into the lock when the front door to their apartment swung open.

“Why were you so late?” Niall demanded.  “He didn’t pull anything, did he, that smarmy bastard?  Because I promise ya, if that YSL-wearing toff even _thought_ about—”

“Niall, don’t be ridiculous.”  Zayn brushed past his over-protective roommate, haplessly dropping his keys on a chair.  Niall immediately retrieved the fob and hung them on the proper peg next to the door.  Zayn gave him a look that hopefully conveyed his thoughts:  namely, Zayn didn’t need someone following him around picking up his keys and scaring off work associates who could further his career.  “Harry’s a lovely guy, Niall, and he’s engaged.  He’s not a wolf or whatever you were thinking.”

Niall pulled a face.  “You sure?”

“Of course!  Why is it that you have to think so lowly of everyone?”

“Because I’m not bloody naïve,” he returned, and Zayn couldn’t help but think it was a dig at him—intentional or not.  “You’d tell me if he tried something, right?”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “Of course I would!  Geesh, Ni!”

Niall exhaled slowly and closed the door before their neighbours complained about the noise.  “I just…worry about you, that’s all,” Niall admitted softly, his back to his roommate still.

“Well, I can take care of myself,” Zayn huffed, plopping angrily on the sofa.

“I know but you’re just so…innocent, and there are so many gobshites who’d take advantage of that fact.  I feel it’s my duty to protect you from all that.”

“You can’t protect me from _everything_ , Niall.”

“Well, I can try,” he chuckled, taking a seat next to his best friend.  He had that goofy grin on his face, and Zayn couldn’t help but slide over closer to him.  “I love you, bro,” he spoke sincerely, bringing him in for a brotherly hug.

“Love you, too, idiot,” Zayn returned, resting his head on Niall’s shoulder.  They stayed there for a while, and Zayn allowed his eyelids to droop shut as he contentedly thought back on his busy day.

“Shite, forgot about dinner!” Niall announced abruptly.  He bounded to his feet, nearly sending Zayn flying off the couch in the process.  Zayn couldn’t help but smile, though, as he followed his friend into the kitchen.

Niall put on the shamrock oven mitts Zayn had bought him as a gag gift last year and pulled out a delicious-smelling casserole from the oven.  “Gotta let it cool.  In the meantime, I was hoping I could get your advice on something.  It’s about Jo.”

“Who?” 

“Johanna Hart, our school secretary,” he clarified, looking at Zayn as if this were obvious.  Knowing Niall, there was only one reason why he’d need advice about their pretty school secretary.

“Niall!” Zayn scolded.  “ _Please_ don’t tell me you’ve been hitting on her again!”

“Well, I couldn’t help it.  You see, I was sat in the office and….” 

As Niall told his story, Zayn caught himself reflecting on how life hadn’t really changed all that much for Niall and him—well, not as much as they thought it was going to, anyway.  Zayn must have been a fool to worry so much at the beginning of the school year.  After an admittedly bumpy start, things had slowly begun to turn around. 

Before turning in that night, Zayn checked his phone and noticed a message from Ed.

_Ed:  Hope everything went well with HS today! Lmk if you can still meet on Thurs but don’t feel you have to or anything_

_Me:  No, I’m looking forward to it!_

_Ed:  Brilliant! Sweet dreams :D_

_Me:  Good night._ :)       

 

Zayn couldn’t help but smile as he pulled the covers up to his chin to protect himself against the chilly fall evening.  He felt like a giddy, twelve-year-old girl just thinking about seeing those blue eyes again.  His mum would love Ed.  His dad, too.

Yes, life was _definitely_ looking up.

 

***

 

Thursday dragged on and on. 

…And on.

Eventually, after Zayn had nearly given up all hope of ever escaping, the final bell rang.  Without further ado, he ushered his challenging final hour class of juniors and seniors out of the room.  For some reason, they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to start their weekend.  Indeed, most of them (excluding the jittery Derek, of course) lingered in the aisles or doorway, chatting about a weekend party or the upcoming project in class. 

After some encouragement, Zayn managed to evict every last one of the squatters and spent a few minutes tidying up his classroom.  He kept eying the clock on the wall and once it approached 3:25, he bolted out the door, nearly forgetting to lock it behind him.

He’d made plans to meet Ed in the main hall at 3:30 so Zayn quickly made his way downstairs and towards the front of the school.  Once there, he noticed his mentor conversing with his boss in hushed tones just outside the office.  As he neared them, Harry froze before hurriedly turning back to tell Dr. Payne something. 

If Zayn didn’t know better, he would have sworn they were talking about him.

Rather than loitering where he wasn’t wanted, he continued walking at a brisk pace towards the main doors.  Besides, Zayn really didn’t want to get into a conversation with his principal—even if his mentor was there.

Zayn had just pushed open the first door when a voice boomed from behind:

“Eager to leave, aren’t we, Mr. Malik?”

Zayn stopped dead in his tracks, mentally trying to gather the courage to face the clearly unhappy man standing behind him.

“It is still 15:28 according to my watch,” Dr. Payne declared in an icy tone that sent shivers down Zayn’s spine, “and I do not recall granting you permission to leave early today, Mr. Malik.” 

Timidly, Zayn turned to face his accuser.  The man’s piercing gaze dared Zayn to say something, but of course he didn’t.  He wasn’t _completely_ stupid.  Rather, Zayn just stood there, wilting like a shrinking violet.  Harry shot him a sympathetic look while Zayn lamented not checking the office clock or his phone before speeding out without a thought.

“I didn’t realise it wasn’t, er, three-thirty yet, s-sir,” he stammered out.  “I should have, like, checked the time before I walked out.  I’m so—”

“Sorry?” Dr. Payne ventured with a mocking sneer and all Zayn could do was nod dumbly.  “Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Malik,” his principal confided, “ _I’m_ sorry as well.” 

Zayn thought about responding but figured he was already in enough trouble as it was.

“If nothing else,” Dr. Payne continued, “you are a bright and clever young man so I will let you work that out for yourself.”

Although Zayn had managed to put together a decent lesson plan for his first observation (with the help of Harry), it was blatantly obvious now that he was _never_ going to succeed at impressing his boss, no matter how hard he tried.

 

***

 

At precisely 3:38—Zayn had set his watch to the office time, just to be on the safe side from now on—Ed exited the building.  The music teacher was wearing a deep frown, but it disappeared the moment he spotted Zayn swinging his legs from where he sat perched on the brick wall along the walkway.

“Thought you forgot we were meeting today when I didn’t see you in the hall,” the ginger admitted sheepishly.

Zayn catapulted off the wall and brushed off the seat of his heather-grey trousers.  “Sorry, I had a run-in with Dr. Payne just now and—”

“No need to explain,” Ed interrupted.  “I saw him stomping about the office as I left, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be faffing about either.  Looks as if he’s got the hump today.”

Zayn wouldn’t know if Dr. Payne had ‘the hump’ or not.  The man hardly ever seemed to be in a good mood—not when Zayn was around at any rate.

When they reached the faculty parking lot, Zayn was happy to note that unlike Harry, Ed didn’t have a fancy ride.  They loaded their books, laptops, and everything they needed for the planning session in his plain, white truck, and then Ed drove the short distance to his apartment. 

Although Zayn had visited Ed’s place a few times with Niall, this felt different somehow.  Ed’s apartment felt so much smaller and…intimate this time.  Zayn tried to push those awkward feelings aside as Ed and him set to work on their joint class— _The History of Popular Music_ , as they had now christened it.  They were hoping to submit everything well before the deadline at the end of November so that they would have the best chance of Dr. Payne and the board approving their collaborative class for next semester.

The two teachers spent most of the night researching topics and fine-tuning their proposed syllabus for the course.  Several hours in, Ed suggested ordering a pizza and Zayn seconded the idea straightaway.  They made short work of the veggie lovers, and soon there was only one slice left.  They both eyed the final piece with determination, as if it were the final move in a chess match.  Before Zayn had time to react, Ed seized it, cackling when he saw the younger man’s appalled look. 

“You twerp!” Zayn only half-kidded, swatting the music teacher with a stack of napkins.  “You didn’t even give me a fair shot at it.”

“Stop whinging, mate.  I’ve decided to give you this slice—but only because I like you.”

“Thanks!” Zayn replied, grabbing the cheesy, heaping slice and shamelessly plopping it on his plate.

“…Because I like you a lot, actually,” Ed added under his breath.  Zayn inhaled sharply, his eyes widening at the unexpected confession.  “I’m sorry—I-I shouldn’t have said that,” the ginger mumbled quickly.  “Just forget it, yeah?”

“What if…what if I don’t want to forget it?” Zayn asked quietly.  

Ed peered up at him, hope in his blue eyes.  “Would you let me take you out some time, Zayn?  I mean, where we could just have a chat and get to know each other?”

“I’d love that,” Zayn returned shyly.

“You would?  No shit?”  

“Yeah,” Zayn chuckled, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Ed beamed.  “How about tomorrow night then?”

“ _Tomorrow_?”

Ed furrowed his brow.  “Too soon?”

“No, no…not at all,” Zayn rushed to say.  “I’m just…surprised, that’s all.  Friday night would be perfect.”

“Well blow me, Niall _was_ right,” Ed commented as if awestruck.  Zayn eyed him quizzically, and the ginger looked self-conscious again as he cleared his throat.  “I might have asked Niall if he thought…y’know…that you might…well…not be completely opposed to the idea of…letting me take you out sometime…maybe.”

Zayn grinned.  “Really?”

“Yeah, and I made sure he was cool with it and everything,” Ed reassured him.   

Ed had to be the sweetest guy ever.  Case in point:  he even asked Niall if he could take his best friend out on a date.   In the back of Zayn’s mind, though, a nagging thought plagued him.   Zayn wondered what would have happened if Niall had said no.  Would Ed have risked Niall’s disfavour and asked Zayn out regardless? 

And why was Zayn even thinking about irrelevant things like that?

“Hey, Ed—pass me a knife.”  The other teacher looked confused but handed over the utensil anyway.  Zayn cut the last slice of pizza in half, delivering the larger half to a delighted Ed.

“I knew there was a reason I fancied ya!” he burst out, and Zayn giggled at his unbridled enthusiasm.  “Now let’s get this paperwork finished before I start receiving threatening calls and texts from your guardian, yeah?”

“He’s not my guardian, Ed,” Zayn corrected with a good, old-fashioned eye roll.

“Ah, that’s what you think, mate.”

“So, what do _you_ think, then?” Zayn challenged, slightly perturbed by his answer.

“I think that, despite his size, he can be a tad bit intimidating when he goes all mama bear; that’s all I’m gonna say about that,” he impishly replied.  “Now where were we?”

 

***

 

“How was your date, Zed?” Niall asked as they stood in front of the teachers’ mailboxes bright and early on Friday morning.  “You got in so late last night I didn’t have the chance to ask you about it.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Zayn calmly corrected his friend.  “And you could have brought this up in the car on the way here if you weren’t so busy telling me about _your_ night.” 

Niall had gone to some photography exhibition with Ms. Hart, and Zayn had certainly gotten an earful about it on the ride over.  Part of him still felt it was wrong for Niall to be seeing the school secretary.  Actually, all of him _knew_ it was wrong.  Mostly, Zayn was afraid of what would happen if Niall let Jo get her hopes up and the romance went south—as Niall’s romances unfailingly did.

It wasn’t that Niall was a cad exactly, he just…well, lost interest.  He was more of a “flavour-of-the-month” sort of guy.  He never let his relationships get too serious; it was all just good fun.  Zayn only wished his friend wouldn’t mix business with pleasure.    

“Bollocks, mate.  No chance you two spent all that time at his flat working.”

“Well, we did,” Zayn insisted.  “Sorry to disappoint, Ni.”

Niall snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.  “You’re hopeless, mate.  Bloody hopeless.”

Zayn bit his lip to hide the smile that was threatening to burst out at any second.  He ducked his head a bit, but Niall was onto him.

“Out with it.”

Zayn tried to look nonchalant.  “It’s nothing.  Just…I might have a date with a certain music teacher lined up for tonight,” he stated like it was no big deal that Zayn Malik was actually going on a real date for once.

Niall looked positively exultant.  “You little minx, you!” he hissed, slapping Zayn on the back.  “And I can’t believe Ed worked up the courage to ask you out that quickly.  I reckon that bloke’s got more guts than I gave him credit for.  Damned impressive.”

“So Sheeran and you are a thing?” a voice asked out of nowhere.  Zayn turned to see Louis peeking around the corner of the mailboxes, head disembodied _a la_ the Cheshire cat. 

“Sorry, we were having a private conversation,” Niall grunted at the newcomer.

Louis strolled over with his usual blunt boldness and wedged himself between the two boys.  “There’s really no need to apologise, Horan.  And budge up, yeah?”

“Why?” Niall asked testily, standing his ground.  “Like I said, I was having a _private_ conversation with my mate, and you—”

“Are merely trying to get at my mailbox,” Louis lamented, “which you couldn’t be blocking better if you were bloody David de Gea.”

Niall scowled but gave the older teacher some room.  Zayn could hardly remember the last time he saw anyone challenge Niall.  His friend might be easy-going as a rule, but he was all alpha once you glanced beyond the disarming surface.

Louis grinned, cat-like.  “Cheers, Horan.  Now kindly ‘get thee away to a nunnery’ and what-not because I have important matters to discuss with Malik here.” 

“Guess Harry was right,” Zayn mused, scanning through the bulletins and junk mail he’d just pulled out of his mailbox, “you _do_ like to butcher Shakespeare, don’t you?”

“C’mon, Malik—fess up.  What’s going on between you and Sheeran?”

“Nothing,” Zayn fibbed, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.  “We’re working on this course proposal, you see, and—”

“Sheeran’s working on you behind Horan’s back?” Louis supplied, eyes, glittering.  Before Zayn could even begin to think of a decent response, the drama teacher vanished as quickly as he came.

“Brilliant,” Niall remarked with a disgruntled sigh, “now the whole school’s going to know about you and Ed.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed, but unlike Niall’s, his voice was completely devoid of all sarcasm.  He was excited about his date that night, and he couldn't care less if the whole universe knew about it.  

 

***

 

“Are you having a good time?” Ed questioned for the third time that night, tugging nervously at the collar of his stiff, white shirt.

Zayn lowered his menu and looked directly at his date.  “Yes, now stop asking me before I change my mind.”

“Sorry,” Ed blushed, “it’s just I don’t want you to regret accepting my invitation tonight.”

“I would have enjoyed myself no matter where you took me, Ed, but this place is…perfect.”  Zayn’s eyes swept the authentic Italian restaurant once again as if to underscore his point.  This gem on the other side of Wisteria Falls was elegant without being too pretentious and cosy without being too cramped.

In other words, it was exactly how Zayn had described it:  _perfect_.

And then he spotted Liam Payne.

His mouth went dry as he stared at the couple sat at a table in the corner.  Once Zayn had gotten over the initial shock of seeing his principal, his gaze landed on the woman with him.  She was a stunning brunette with legs that seemed to go on for days.  Her Ferrari-red mini dress dipped low in front, showing off all her ‘assets.’  The couple clinked wineglasses as Zayn watched, the woman smiling flirtatiously at her date with lips as red as her dress.

“What are you staring at?” Ed asked, and before Zayn could say anything, the music teacher turned to look over his shoulder.  “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbled, taking a sip from his water.

“What are the odds that Dr. Payne would be at the same restaurant I chose for our date?” Ed wondered aloud, failing to hide his frustration.  “I feel like I should apologise.”

“Don’t be silly,” Zayn told him, trying to smile and shake off the inevitable sense of impending doom he felt whenever his principal was close at hand.  Ed gave a grateful smile and went back to studying his menu.  

Zayn went back to studying the couple in the corner. 

Dr. Payne was wearing a suit, of course, but he looked…different.  The administrator had traded in his normal daytime greys and blues for a sleek black suit and tie.  Suddenly, Dr. Payne turned his head ever-so-slightly, meeting Zayn’s gaze from across the crowded restaurant.  Zayn knew he’d been caught red-handed, but he couldn’t look away; it was as if he’d been held prisoner by the confident, smug look in the other man’s eyes. 

Even after Zayn broke eye contact, he could still feel the man’s penetrating gaze on him—watching him, scrutinising him, judging his every move.

The waitress returned to take their order, and Zayn made a concentrated effort to forget about the man (and his stupidly attractive date) in the corner.  When the entrees came, Zayn picked at his plate.  He’d been hungry when they arrived, but somewhere along the way, he’d lost his appetite.  Regardless, he tried his best to make small talk and appear like he was enjoying being out with the music teacher because he was.  He wasn’t even going to spare a single thought for the man in the corner who was—

“Zayn?”

“Sorry, Ed.  Guess I’m just a little distracted,” he admitted, coming clean at last.

Ed nodded understandingly.  There was no need to voice just what was distracting Zayn; they both knew.  “We can leave if you’d like?”

“No!” Zayn practically screamed back at his date before composing himself.  “I mean, I don’t want to ruin our date, and I don’t want Dr. Payne to think we’re leaving early because of him either.”  Zayn worried his lip and looked down at his barely-touched plate.  “You know how he feels about me already.”

“Don’t worry—it’ll get better,” Ed offered gently with a soft smile.  “You just have to wait it out…like I did.” 

Zayn glanced up in surprise.  This was the first he had heard of Ed having trouble with Dr. Payne—well, more trouble than everyone else anyway.  “You mean, you…?”  Zayn stopped, not knowing how to continue.  The last thing he wanted to do was insult Ed or completely badmouth their boss when the man was eating dinner just yards away.

“Yes,” Ed laughed uncomfortably.  “From what I hear, he likes to select a scapegoat each year, a victim on the staff to bully, y’know?”

Yes, Zayn certainly _did_ know.

Zayn cleared his throat.  “So you’re saying that you were in this same position last year, Ed?”

“Yeah.  It was bloody awful, but it’s been loads better this year, mate.”

“I’m not sure if I can hold out that long,” Zayn said glumly, twirling his fork around on his plate.  “I’m just not used to being treated like…well, how he treats me.   It’s so discouraging.”

“You’ll get through it,” Ed said encouragingly, reaching across the table to place his hand on top of Zayn’s free hand.  “You probably won’t even have to wait that long—a whole academic year, I mean.  He’ll lose interest or start respecting you as you gain confidence in your teaching skills.”

“And follow his rules,” Zayn added.

“Yes, that too, of course.”

“Besides, I have no choice, do I?” he mused miserably.

“Well, you do, but you’d be mad to waste an opportunity like this—at least until you receive your full teaching license.” 

Zayn nodded.  It was nearly impossible in this state to receive a full professional licence if you blew your mentorship year.  He knew that as well (or better) than anyone.  “It’s just not fair,” he groaned, searching Ed’s eyes for empathy.  But instead of commiseration, Zayn found a cold, hard anger in the blue orbs.

“Don’t worry,” Ed declared assuredly, “Dr. Payne will get what’s coming to him eventually.  Just wait and see.”  Before Zayn could respond, the frosty look had disappeared.  It was gone so quickly that Zayn wondered if he’d just imagined it in the first place.  “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Zayn acquiesced at once.  He peered over Ed’s right shoulder one last time, but Dr. Payne was focused on his date now. 

Still, it took the full drive home for Zayn to shed the feeling he was being watched.

When they arrived back at Zayn’s apartment, Ed killed the engine, and they sat quietly for a minute.

“Zayn, I…,” Ed began before resigning to the dark and silent symphony of the night.  Zayn glanced over at him and became captivated by the light of the stars reflecting in his light eyes as they studied the sky above.

Without thinking, Zayn leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Ed’s lips before drawing back.  Zayn then bit his lower lip and nervously gauged the other boy’s reaction.  At first, Ed seemed stunned by his forward move, but surely, no more so than Zayn was.  When the music teacher recovered, he smiled back at Zayn, then leaned in and returned the favour.  Zayn sighed contentedly into the kiss as the other boy’s lips massaged his own, fingers gently sifting through quiffed hair.  Before Zayn knew it, Ed was slowly pulling away.

“That was…nice,” Zayn breathed, not knowing what else to say.

“Yes, it was—and I’d fancy doing it again sometime,” Ed added puckishly.

Zayn ducked his head shyly.  “Me, too.”

“Here, I’ll walk you to your door.”

Ed bid him goodnight, then Zayn floated up the familiar steps to his apartment.  He couldn’t help but think how fortunate he was to have found a someone who was so sweet, genuine, and charming.  The type of person his parents would love.  The type of person Niall would love.  The type he’d been dreaming of since he was a kid. 

 

***

 

Zayn thought he’d be walking on air for days, but the euphoria had all but worn off by Sunday night.

He couldn’t sleep…again.  Inevitably, his mind travelled back to Friday night—back to the Italian restaurant with the red and green tablecloths, back to Ed’s warm smile, back to Dr. Payne’s dark stare, and back to... _her._

Zayn wondered who she was, how long she’d been dating Dr. Payne.  He wasn’t jealous of her though—just curious.  He couldn’t be jealous because Zayn wasn’t attracted to his boss.  Zayn wouldn’t be interested in that man even if it weren’t completely taboo for a teacher to be dating his principal (which it was). 

Admittedly, Dr. Payne was an attractive man from most standards—okay, from any standard.  He had classic good looks, was always well-groomed, and dressed impeccably.  He was intelligent, too.  _But_ he was also pompous, belittling, manipulative, arrogant, chauvinistic, domineering, and hypercritical. 

In sum, the man was not even close to being his type.  Zayn wanted someone he could feel good about bringing home to his parents, someone who made him feel at ease, someone comfortable.  Liam Payne was none of that.

Besides, Liam Payne was too old for him.  (He was also too straight apparently.)

And, once again, he was Zayn’s _boss_. 

Zayn thought about the restaurant again, about the exact moment when Dr. Payne had locked eyes with him.  He hated to admit it, but it had made him feel something strange, an emotion he couldn’t quite put a label to or finger on.  Something baffling and exhilarating all at once.

It was like Zayn secretly wanted Dr. Payne’s eyes on him and not his gorgeous date.

At the time, Zayn had chalked it up to his own people-pleasing tendencies.  He was always striving to earn others’ attention and approval, always endeavouring to win authority figures over with a perfect essay, test score, or responsible decision.  It was just his personality.

But this time was different.  They weren’t even at school for starters.  And yes, Zayn had felt self-conscious with Dr. Payne’s gaze trained on him during much of dinner, but he had also felt something else.

And that ‘something else’ was making him very uncomfortable.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, lovelies. It's been a bit tough lately (just lost my job, ho hum) but tried to get this out as quickly as I could under the circumstances. Anyway, just wanted to say that all the love I've been seeing on AO3 and my dash (from the Ziam community especially) has been overwhelming. Thank you for reading and supporting fics and fic writers. You're all golden. xx 
> 
> Oh, and next chapter will start the drama. Fasten your seat belts. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Zayn had all but dismissed the thoughts that had kept him awake most of Sunday night.  They seemed so trivial, so silly in the daylight when he had no excuse but to be in a good mood.  After all, his morning lessons were going well, his students were attentive, and he couldn’t ask for a better start to the day.  Besides, he couldn’t help but look forward to his lunch and the opportunity to see Ed again.

To his relief, Harry and Louis were sitting at another table when Zayn opened the door to the teachers’ lounge.  It wasn’t that Zayn didn’t enjoy Harry’s company (even if Ed did turn into a shameless fangirl whenever he was around) because he did.  Rather, his objection was that Styles-Tomlinson was a packaged deal, and he wasn’t in the mood for any drama today.

When Zayn got to the table, he shyly greeted Ed and took a seat next to Niall. 

“Hullo, Zayn,” Ed returned before going right back into the heated exchange he was having with Niall about some sports team Zayn had never heard of. 

Zayn set out his lunch and tried to act normal, like nothing had changed between Ed and him.  He wasn’t going to think about the dinner or the kiss (or God forbid, seeing Dr. Payne on a date).

“Zed, stop biting your nails,” Niall ordered, and Zayn immediately dropped his hands to his lap.  “I’m sure your food tastes much better.”

Zayn could feel his cheeks burning.  “That’s debatable,” he mustered, eying the unappetising school lunch in front of him.  There were several setbacks to Niall ‘seeing’ the school secretary—not least of which was the fact that the culinary arts teacher neglected to make anything for their lunches today.

“Apparently,” Niall stated, glancing suggestively at the other two boys at the table, “no one’s going to bring up the elephant in the room.” 

Zayn peeked across the table at Ed, and he looked just as embarrassed as Zayn felt.  “Speaking of elephants…,” Zayn murmured, nodding his head discretely towards the door where Ms. Hart had just entered the lounge.  The secretary paused for a moment, flipped her hair back off her shoulders, and removed her glasses with flare.  The whole thing was such a mini-production that Zayn half-expected theme music to accompany her entrance.

A moment later, though, there was no doubt for whom that little performance was intended.

“Mr. Horan!” her cutesy voice rang out.  As she meandered through the break room, she did another hair flip for good measure and batted her long eyelashes.  Ed began to chortle before coughing awkwardly into his hand.  

“Feel free to call me Niall, love.  We’re in the lounge after all,” Niall said smoothly, standing up and placing a hand on the back of his chair.  Ms. Hart looked up at him with a look of pure adoration.

“Thank you, _Niall_.”

“What can I do for you, Jo?”

“You…I…um….”  She quickly set the papers she was holding down on the table and began to flip through them nervously.  After a few seconds, she extracted a sheet from the stack.  “I was going to e-mail you this information, but it just seemed so…impersonal, you know?” she sighed, her voice wispy and romantic.

“Well, Jo,” Niall began, gazing intently into the secretary’s big, blue eyes, “I appreciate your taking the time out of your busy day to hand-deliver this to me.” 

Zayn exchanged glances with Ed and tried not to choke on his Frito pie as Niall turned the charm up another notch.

“Would it be alright if I rang you up this afternoon, love?”

“Y-yes,” she breathed, then practically skipped out of the room.

Zayn was thankful she didn’t stay.  He was having a hard enough time getting down the cafeteria grub without the added nauseating factor of having to watch Niall’s flirtatious shtick.

“So, mate, what was so important?” Ed asked Niall curiously.

“I’m getting a new student—a transfer, actually,” Niall informed them, starting in on his neglected lunch.

“ _Another_ one?” Ed asked, dumbstruck.

Zayn snorted.  “Bet it’s a girl.”

“Yeah, Zed.  How’d you know?”

Zayn shook his head.  “Must be psychic or something,” he joked, channelling Louis from last week.

Niall rolled his eyes.  “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that—”

“…Every new student of yours is a girl?” Zayn finished teasingly.  “Because I’ve been keeping track, and they all are, bro.”

“Must be his Irish charm,” Ed suggested with a cheeky grin and Zayn laughed. 

“Shut it you two,” Niall retorted good-naturedly before examining the paper in his hands again.  “Looks like it’s another senior—a Jessica Smethurst.  Oi, I wonder if she’s any relation to the bloke our theatre’s named after.  You know, Smethurst Auditorium?”   

“I wonder,” Zayn deadpanned, and Niall shot him a reproving look.  Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Zayn was sure Niall was well aware of the fact that all the new students in his classes were junior and senior girls whose parents were either on the board or had made significant donations to the school.  Otherwise, there was no way their inflexible administrator would have approved a transfer this far into the semester.

“So Zayn,” Ed began, a smile playing at his lips, “do you think the birds are flocking to his classes to learn how to cook or because they fancy the fit culinary arts teacher?”

“So when’s your observation, Zed?” Niall asked abruptly.

“Nice one!” Ed observed with a twinkle in his eye.  “I, for one, didn’t notice that you just strategically changed the subject there.”

“Nope, didn’t notice a thing,” Zayn played along.

“Ugh, I’m not sure if I approve of you two becoming a thing anymore,” Niall grumped.  “You’re ganging up on me, and it’s so not cool.”

“Sorry, Ni,” Zayn apologised, stifling a giggle.  “And my observation’s scheduled for Wednesday, third hour.”

Niall nodded thoughtfully.  “That your Honours World History class, Zed?”

“Yep, shouldn’t be hard to pull off a solid lesson with a class like that,” Zayn admitted honestly.  “When’s yours?”

“Thursday.  I’m having Dr. Payne observe an Intro to Cooking class with sixth- and seventh-graders.  It should be fine as long as they don’t set the kitchen on fire.”

“Speaking of setting fire to kitchens…,” Zayn began, avoiding the look his best friend was giving him.  “Hey, Ed, did I ever tell you about the time when Niall—”

“Ah, saved by the bell!” Niall declared loudly, shooting up. 

“I didn’t hear a bell,” Ed mumbled, scratching his head.  A second later, the bell in question sounded, and Niall’s face broke out into a relieved grin. 

“Hey, Zed, I must be psychic, too,” he cracked.  “Got to wee something fierce so I’ll see you bastards later.”

Ed lingered behind.  “Would you mind if I, um, walked you to class, Zayn?”

Zayn wanted to accept the other teacher’s offer; however, he knew it wasn’t the wisest thing to do.  The more he had thought about it over the weekend, the more he realised the necessity for them to be professional about whatever was developing between them.  Zayn didn’t want the students getting any ideas even if rumours were already circulating amongst the faculty (courtesy of one Louis Tomlinson, no doubt).

“Better not, Ed,” Zayn told him reluctantly, and his heart lurched at the other man’s crestfallen face.  “I want to, it’s just that…I-I don’t want you to be late,” he added lamely. 

“Yeah, I understand,” Ed said with a sad smile.  “You’re right; it’s probably too soon.”  He grasped Zayn’s hand for a moment, squeezed it gently, and left.

All of a sudden, Zayn heard obnoxious smooching noises, and he spun around to see Louis smirking.  Before Zayn could say anything (or run out of the lounge with his face as red as a cherry), Louis let out a high-pitched, injured squeal and grasped his foot, cursing under his breath.

“Sorry, Tomlinson,” Niall smirked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.  Zayn looked down at the boots Niall was wearing and quickly put two and two together.

“Oh, you will be, Horan—sorry, I mean,” Louis snapped back at him, eyes blazing.  The drama teacher recovered his usual swagger soon after and limped out of the lounge without another word.

 

***

 

Five minutes before Dr. Payne was supposed to observe Zayn’s third hour World History class, Zayn received an e-mail from the man himself:

> _Mr. Malik,_
> 
> _Unfortunately, there was an incident with a student, and I am unable to observe you at this time.  Since you are teaching the same course this afternoon, I will plan to observe you then._
> 
> _-LP_

 

Zayn’s heart dropped.  He’d been mentally preparing himself all morning and now there was going to be a delay.  Even worse, he had a totally different lesson planned for that hour.  Zayn’s last hour was by far his least motivated and most challenging group—even if he’d basically won the power battle with them thanks to his mentor’s help earlier in the year.

Zayn couldn’t imagine a worse turn of events.  Still, it wasn’t like there was much he could do about it except try to do his best under the circumstances.  After all, good teachers had to be flexible and adaptable, right?

At the appointed hour, Dr. Payne settled himself at a table in back just behind Derek, the student Zayn had sent to the office earlier in the year.  Zayn couldn’t help but notice how Derek turned three shades paler as soon as the principal walked in the door.

“Derek, are you feeling alright?” Zayn inquired discretely just as the bell rang to signify class had started.

“The boy’s fine; continue with your lesson, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne curtly instructed.   

And so Zayn did, all the while pretending this was just a normal lesson on a normal day.

 

***

 

Zayn was scheduled to meet with Dr. Payne afterschool for his post-observation meeting.  Since Dr. Payne had observed his last class, it meant Zayn didn’t have long to wait to receive his verdict. 

All things considered, Zayn felt his lesson had gone well.  But that didn’t necessarily mean Dr. Payne agreed.

Except it did.  (In this circumstance anyway.)

Dr. Payne once again gave him a positive review—glowing even.  He said he was especially impressed with how well Zayn had listened to and adapted the pointers and suggestions he had given him after his first observation.  He even complimented Zayn on the improvement in his appearance, saying Zayn looked more ‘professional,’ more like a ‘Payne teacher.’

After Zayn had signed his evaluation forms, he mistakenly thought the post-observation was over.  He waited for Dr. Payne to dismiss him in his usual fashion, but to his surprise, the principal did no such thing.

“One more thing, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne announced, closing his personnel file and setting it on his desk.  Zayn looked at him curiously, wondering what other topic his administrator could possibly want to discuss with him.   “It has come to my attention that you have been seeing Mr. Sheeran on a social basis—is this correct?”

“Why y-yes,” Zayn answered, completely stunned that his boss would bring such a thing up in a formal meeting like this. “I am friends with several of the teachers at the school, but I assure you, sir, that we fully respect your wishes to not socialise during the school day—”

“I am not concerned about your _friendships_ with the other teachers in the building,” he interrupted curtly.  “I am more than aware that you share a flat with Mr. Horan and that you regularly eat lunch with him and a few of our other teachers—including Mr. Sheeran, apparently.”  He grimaced before continuing.  “Mr. Horan assures me there is nothing improper occurring between the two of you, and I take him at his word.” 

Dr. Payne paused to glance towards the main office door, and Zayn wondered if the man knew anything about his secretary’s ‘friendship’ with Niall.  “As I was saying, I do not mind if you have friends on the staff.  Rather, I am specifically referring to Mr. Sheeran,” he uttered distastefully.  “I do not tolerate relationships between faculty members in my building, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn was speechless for several seconds. This was the last thing he ever expected his principal to say—especially during his review. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat.  “But sir, I—”

“Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne cut in, “even if I hadn’t seen you with Mr. Sheeran myself—and after hours, shall we say—I _still_ would have been leery of the relationship between you two.”  He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his long spider-like fingers.  “I know this staff thinks I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I can tell you that there is very little I miss around here— _very_ little, Mr. Malik.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Zayn mumbled.  It felt like he spent half his time apologising to his boss.

(Probably because he did.)

“I trust I can expect this inappropriate liaison with Mr. Sheeran to dissolve effective immediately, then?”

Zayn wanted to say no, that it shouldn’t matter what he did in his personal life.  After all, he was extremely professional and so was Ed.  They would _never_ cross any lines at school.  The situation was completely unfair.

But was it worth losing his position over?  A coveted position at _Payne Academy_?

Because he liked Ed, but this was his _career_ , his life’s dream.  It seemed foolish to risk it all for a casual romance.  Perhaps, Zayn was losing focus on what was really important.  There would be time for distractions later—in the summer, maybe.  Right now, Zayn just needed to make sure he didn’t do anything to jeopardise his future.

First and foremost, he couldn’t lose sight of the goals he had set for himself this year:  Earn a full teaching licence and impress Dr. Payne (or at least mitigate the damage he’d already done).

Zayn took a deep breath and looked his principal straight in the eye.  “Yes, sir.  You have my word.”

Dr. Payne let out a satisfied sigh.  “I am _so_ glad you see it my way, Mr. Malik,” he said smoothly, a glint in his coffee-coloured eyes.  “It would have been extremely awkward had you not.”

Zayn ignored the feeling of dread that suddenly came over him; he was always reading more into things than he should.  He thanked Dr. Payne for his time and left the office, his head buzzing with half-formed thoughts and ideas.

 

***

 

Later, Zayn endured another sleepless night.  He studied the cracks in the ceiling as he reflected on the bizarre twist to his post-observation meeting.  It all stemmed from the crazy coincidence that Dr. Payne had taken his date to the same restaurant Ed had chosen for their first date. 

Because apparently, there weren’t any other decent places to eat in the whole of Wisteria Falls.

Zayn’s thoughts were like a broken record, and they kept bringing him back to the same old song.  The more he thought about it, it seemed almost inconceivable that Dr. Payne would be dining at nearly the same exact time _and_ at the same restaurant…on the other side of town.

Maybe Dr. Payne knew about his date with Ed and went to the restaurant to spy on them.  It seemed far-fetched but not entirely out of character.  Even before school started, Dr. Payne had spoken at length in the pre-service about his expectations.  Payne teachers were expected to have impeccable moral characters.  Payne teachers did not do anything to embarrass the board or tarnish the reputation of the school.

Perhaps, Dr. Payne had gone to the restaurant to catch Zayn doing something he shouldn’t, something unbecoming of a Payne teacher.  Still, it didn’t explain how Dr. Payne knew about the date in the first place.

Unless someone told him.

His brain immediately started generating a list of suspects.  Unsurprisingly, Louis made the top of the list.  Louis had eavesdropped on his conversation with Niall in the workroom on Friday morning when Zayn had told Niall about the details of his upcoming date with Ed.  There was no way Louis had kept the juicy information about the ‘newbies’ to himself. 

On the other hand, Zayn couldn’t see the rebellious drama teacher snitching on them to their authoritarian administrator.  No, Louis avoided Dr. Payne nearly as much as Zayn did. 

Then, Zayn remembered the secretive doorway dialogue Zayn witnessed on Thursday afternoon between his boss and his mentor, their private meeting in the teachers’ lounge, the countless other clandestine consultations between the two men.

Harry—the person Louis would have divulged the gossip to first.  Harry—who had the ear of the head teacher and ample opportunity. 

Harry—who Zayn _trusted._

Zayn sat up in bed, gasping for breath as if he’d just awoken from a nightmare.  He tried to rein in his wild thoughts.  He was letting his imagination run rampant again.  Harry didn’t know anything about Zayn’s blossoming relationship with Ed, and he wouldn’t have said anything about it even if he did.

It was pure coincidence that Harry was speaking with Principal Payne the afternoon before Zayn’s ‘study date’ with Ed, that the English teacher appeared almost uncomfortable when he spotted Zayn.  Surely, it was pure happenstance that Liam Payne showed up at the restaurant, the last place on the planet Zayn would expect him to be.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Zayn wondered if he should talk to Niall about the whole thing but quickly vetoed that idea.  Of course, that didn’t stop Zayn from feeling guilty about it.  They had always promised no secrets between them, and here Zayn was purposely deciding to hide something from his closest friend, but there was no way he could tell Niall about his suspicions—not yet.  Niall was already overprotective, and he’d undoubtedly freak out, assume the worst before Zayn even had a chance to speak with Harry.

Not that Zayn really wanted to confront Harry with his suspicions.  In all likelihood, Harry wouldn’t even know what he was talking about.  Zayn would make a huge a** of himself and probably irreparably damage his relationship with his mentor.

And Zayn didn’t even want to contemplate the _other_ possibility….

For now, Zayn decided on a plan of watchful waiting.  For the time being, he would be more careful around his mentor (and everyone else).  He would limit the time he spent with Ed—both at school and socially.  Zayn knew it wasn’t going to be easy since he was starting to like Ed, maybe even develop feelings for him.  Moreover, Niall and the music teacher had become fast friends as well. 

Zayn couldn’t _not_ follow his principal’s request though, could he?

Out of nowhere, the quote printed on the Shakespeare poster above Harry’s desk flashed into his mind:

_“Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none.”_

_Trust a few_ …if only.  There was just one person now whom he could trust:  Niall.  Unfortunately, Zayn didn’t even dare tell _him_ everything.

Zayn was not looking forward to school tomorrow.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know this was a tad bit shorter, but I wanted to get something out to you all (and this felt like a logical place to stop). Just to let you know, I should have some more time in the coming weeks here since I think I've just about gotten my job situation/life sorted. 
> 
> Anyways, I'll plan on updating in about a week. :) Thank you to all who commented/sent well wishes here or on tumblr. You seriously motivated me to get this (and half of the next chapter) done when I felt like I was stretched in a million directions. Much love! ~Maree xx


	7. Chapter 7

 

The following school day, Zayn didn’t have a spare moment to think about his mentor, or his principal, or anything else.  His day was packed with detailed lectures, historical artefacts, and unit assessments.  By the time the final bell rang, Zayn was ready to take an aspirin (maybe even two) and lay his head down on his desk.

And so he did.

The relief was short-lived, however, because all the suspicions and doubts that had been left stewing at the back of his mind now boiled over. 

He needed to know.  Zayn needed to know if he could trust Harry or if the English teacher was simply using him to gain favour with Dr. Payne.  He rose from his desk with the intention of visiting Harry’s classroom, telling himself over and over again that he was simply jumping to conclusions.

Ironically, just as Zayn was about to open his own classroom door, he heard his mentor’s customary, quick successive raps.  Zayn turned the handle to reveal a quite stunned Harry Styles.

“Bloody hell, that was quick,” he whistled. 

“I was just coming over to see you,” Zayn explained nervously.  “I…wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, invite me in, then ask away.”  Harry held up the book he was holding.  “I was just bringing this over for you to peruse.  It’s got some ace ideas on project-based learning you might want to try out.”

Zayn stepped aside, realising he was blocking the doorway.  He accepted the book Harry gave him, then followed his mentor to their usual table at the back of his room. 

“Everything alright, then?” Harry asked brightly, and Zayn felt sick inside.

He knew he would lose his nerve if he didn’t get straight to the point.  “Harry,” he began, not able to look the other man in the eye, “you’ll probably think this is ridiculous, but…um…did you mention anything personal about me to Dr. Payne?”

“Personal?  Like what?”

“Like the fact I went on a date with Ed?”  Once the question was out, He forced himself to look up at the other teacher.  Zayn was expecting Harry to laugh dismissively, to tell him he was paranoid and overworked, to look offended perhaps.  Zayn was even ready for Harry to make some casual comment about how he didn’t realise Ed and him were even dating.

But his mentor didn’t do any of those things.

No, the English teacher just stared back at Zayn, his mouth set in a thin, worried line.  “You want the truth, don’t you?”

“Of course I want the truth, Harry.”

“Then…yes, I did,” he confessed, looking down at the table like one of Zayn’s sixth-graders who’d just been caught fibbing about whether they read the assigned chapter the night before.  “Louis told me about the date, then I….”  Harry’s voice trailed off before he glumly added, “well, I told Dr. Payne.”

“H-how long?” Zayn sputtered.

Harry blinked.  “How long what?”

“How long have you been relaying information to Dr. Payne?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that—”

“I don’t really care what you’d call it,” Zayn interrupted, screwing his eyes shut as if to brace himself for whatever Harry was about to say.  “Just answer me.  _Please_.”

“I don’t know...a while,” Harry disclosed at last, and it was like Zayn could physically feel a knife blade stabbing into his chest—or his back, to be more accurate.  Learning he was right, that this was just the last in a long line of betrayals, didn’t bring Zayn one iota of satisfaction.

“When?” he demanded.

Harry’s normally vibrant, green eyes dulled to an almost unrecognisable colour.  “Since the day Dr. Payne asked to meet with me in the teachers’ lounge.” 

“That long?” Zayn choked out.  He remembered the incident well—primarily due to the fact that Louis had badgered Harry about it afterwards, and the English teacher had been unusually coy in answering.  “So, what exactly was it he asked you to do, Harry?” 

“Well, he simply asked me to…to keep an eye out for you.”

“Keep an eye out for me or _spy_ on me?” Zayn scoffed, indignation heating his words now.   

“You’re blowing this completely out of proportion; it wasn’t like that at all.  I was only looking out for you and your interests.”

Zayn snorted.  “Yeah, right.”

“Listen, Dr. Payne only asked me to keep tabs on you to make sure you were adjusting to professional life,” Harry insisted.  “I felt like I should tell him you were seeing another faculty member because, well, it could be construed as an ethics violation.”

Zayn couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “Wow.  Thanks, man.  That was super helpful of you to tattle on me to the principal when I _may_ have broken an ethics rule.” 

“ _Zayn_ —”

“No, I mean it,” Zayn cut in, sarcasm still bleeding through.  “Of course, _some_ might say it would have been more appropriate for you come to me first with your so-called ‘concerns’ since I’m your freaking mentee, but yeah, you do you.”

Harry looked away, but even his profile had guilt etched into every feature.  “Look,” he began quietly, “I know first-hand the stresses of teaching.  I know first-hand what it feels like to be a perfectionist, to be constantly striving for excellence.  It’s easy to burn out and even easier to lose focus.”  He paused, allowing time for Zayn to digest his words.  “I didn’t want that to happen to you.”

It was a pretty speech, but the actions behind it were too ugly to be covered up by gilded words.  Plain and simple.

“I thought you said I should find balance.”

“Yeah, eventually,” Harry acknowledged with a troubled sigh.  “But maybe balance isn’t spending every night after school with the music teacher either.  And if we’re being honest,” he tacked on a little too dismissively for Zayn’s liking, “practically half the staff knew about your date anyway.”

“Probably because your friend couldn’t keep his big mouth shut,” Zayn shot back.  Suddenly, a new thought occurred to him.  “Wait—how did you even know Ed was taking me to Fontana’s?”

Harry suddenly appeared uncomfortable— _extremely_ uncomfortable.  “I…well, I asked him.”

“Who?”

“Ed,” Harry clarified.  “At lunch.  You, uh, weren’t there.”

Zayn knew Ed would’ve told Harry anything.  Hell, Ed was probably just flattered the popular teacher he idolised was even talking to him.  “So what you’re telling me is that you went out of your way to find out where we were going so you could report back to the principal?”

“You make it sound so…so….”  Harry gesticulated with his hands before dropping them in a frustrated surrender. 

“Nah, I’m just keeping it real.”  Zayn felt betrayed.  What was worse, he’d been betrayed by his mentor, the one person he was supposed to be able to trust above all others in the school.  Zayn wasn’t angry anymore, just exhausted and disappointed. 

So incredibly disappointed.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Harry said stiffly, “but there’s nothing I can do about it now.  If it upsets you that much, I would be happy speak with Dr. Payne in the morning and tell him we can no longer continue with this mentor-mentee relationship.”

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Zayn replied calmly, and Harry looked downright flabbergasted at his quick acceptance.  In all fairness, Harry _was_ a former new teacher of the year.  He had received dozens of awards and plaudits.  One simply couldn’t find a better mentor on paper.

However, Zayn needed a real-life mentor he could trust, and that certainly wasn’t Harry.

“Oh…okay then,” Harry mustered before donning a façade of professionalism.  “I will speak with Dr. Payne about this matter tomorrow and request he assign another mentor to you at his earliest convenience.  Would that be satisfactory?” 

“Very.”

Harry gave a curt nod and rose from his chair.  “Zayn, I would like to formally apologise to you.  If I was out of line, which I may well have been….”  He paused for a moment, licking his lips, considering.  “Well, just know I never intended to overstep the boundaries of the mentorship or cause you undue stress.  Again, I’m truly sorry.”  Harry glanced back at Zayn then, a quiet pleading in his verdant eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” Zayn responded coolly.  “I thank you for your time and training up until this point and wish you the best for the remainder of the school year.”

Harry exhaled loudly, then left without another word.

Zayn stayed at the table for what seemed like hours.  He had this niggling feeling that he’d done something rash, made some irreparable mistake.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a thing in the world he could do to rectify it at this point.

The die was cast, and that—such as they say—was that.

 

***

 

The next morning, things didn’t appear any brighter.  They were obfuscated at best, cloaked in uncertainty, and swathed in a light that seemed to throw more shadows than illuminate.

Niall, in contrast, was his usual sunny self.  He was whistling and flipping pancakes in their small kitchen, losing about one out of every three or four as he attempted flips with higher and higher degrees of difficulty (behind the back, left-handed, spinning, and a combination of all the above). 

“Oi, reckon I can flip this one onto your plate, Zed?”

Zayn looked up just as a large pancake shot towards him like a Frisbee.  His glass intercepted the flying disc before it got to his plate, however, spilling orange juice all over the place settings and table-top.

“Nice one, Ni,” Zayn deadpanned, regarding the mess with about as much enthusiasm as he regarded the work day ahead.  “Think that was the last of the orange juice, too.”

“It was a quality toss—don’t know what happened,” Niall lamented, shaking his head as he set the frying pan down and went to mop up the mess with a kitchen towel.  “Shouldn’t be drinking that stuff anyway, Zed.  Aren’t you allergic?”

Zayn grumbled under his breath as he rinsed out his glass and placed it in the sink.  He’d opt for coffee instead today.  He opened the cabinet and was careful to choose a mug that looked sturdy enough to withstand a pancake attack—just in case.

Zayn spent the remainder of breakfast wading through his mountain of pancakes drenched with maple syrup and listening to his roommate prattle on about his date with the beautiful Miss Hart the night before.  He was treated to a complete rundown of the evening but Zayn didn’t mind.  It meant he wasn’t required to talk much, and that was a good thing.

Zayn hadn’t had the opportunity to tell his roommate about what happened with Harry the day before…and in all honesty, he wasn’t really looking forward to that conversation.  At all.  Zayn knew Niall was going to be majorly ticked off at what Harry had done.  The Irishman had just been searching for an excuse to dislike Harry for weeks, and now Zayn was delivering one on a silver platter.

When they arrived at school, Zayn stealthily managed to avoid Harry (who was just leaving Dr. Payne’s office) by darting into the workroom.  He then collected his mail, pretending to be wildly interested in a renewal subscription postcard from Smithsonian so Niall wouldn’t ask him any questions.  When he suspected the coast was clear, he wished Niall a good day, put his blinders on, and raced to his classroom.

Zayn was just checking his e-mail when a new message suddenly appeared in his inbox. 

 

> _Come see me.  -LP_

It was short and direct (and more than a little unnerving in its ambiguity).  Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to visit his principal at that second because he could already hear students’ voices and lockers slamming in the hall outside.  They’d be shuffling in soon for his first class, meaning he’d have to wait until the afternoon to find out what Dr. Payne wanted.

A few minutes into his lunch break, Zayn found himself in front of the principal’s door.  Truth be told, he didn’t mind missing part of his lunch to meet with his principal.  Aside from not having told Niall about the Harry situation yet, there was also the fact that Ed would be there.  Ed, whom his principal had warned him not to get involved with because it was against some employee code of conduct.  Ed, whom Zayn still needed to break the news to without sounding like a complete jerk because he was choosing his career over love (which he basically was).    

“Come in!” Dr. Payne barked, and Zayn involuntarily shuddered.  He was barely seated before his boss got straight to the point.  “It has come to my attention that you are no longer satisfied with the mentor I have provided you.  Is this correct?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Dr. Payne arched an eyebrow but otherwise displayed no apparent emotion.  “Did you wish to file any type of complaint against Mr. Styles, Mr. Malik?”

“Complaint?” Zayn echoed, a little baffled by the question.  “N-no.  I don’t want to do anything like that,” he rushed out.  Yes, Zayn was upset with Harry, but it wasn’t like he wanted to get the man into trouble.  He just wanted a new mentor.

“Would you care to provide an explanation, then, as to why Mr. Styles was unsatisfactory in his mentoring role?”

Zayn nervously shifted in his chair.  He figured it would be best if he kept the real motive for his decision secret since Dr. Payne had been involved in the circumstances which caused Zayn to lose faith in his mentor.

“ _Well_ , Mr. Malik?  I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry…what was your question again?” Zayn stalled.

Dr. Payne appeared more than a little perturbed as he gave a long, drawn-out sigh.  “I asked if you would care to explain why you no longer believe Mr. Styles capable of mentoring you.”

“No?” Zayn replied meekly.  As soon as the word left his lips, however, Zayn could tell it was the wrong response.

“ _No?_ ” Dr. Payne repeated as if the word were inherently distasteful to him.  “You do realise, Mr. Malik, that requesting a new mentor at this point in the year is irregular— _highly_ irregular, in fact.”  He studied Zayn closely, and the history teacher could feel himself wilting once again under the man’s intense gaze.  “I do not feel that it is unreasonable of me to expect some sort of explanation for this request.”

Zayn desperately searched his befuddled brain for a justification the administrator might deem acceptable.  “Sir, I just don’t believe the current arrangement is in the best interests of either party,” he offered vaguely before biting into his lower lip to stop his teeth from chattering.

Dr. Payne’s intimidating, expectant look slowly transformed into an approving one, and Zayn was beyond grateful that the man didn’t push the issue.  “Alright, Mr. Malik,” he purred as a look of contentment flashed across his dark eyes.  “I will see about assigning you a new mentor in due course.  Expect to receive an e-mail communication from me in the next day or two on the matter.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Zayn managed as relief washed over him.

“No, thank _you_ , Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne smiled, cat-like.  It was a smile that sent shivers down the young teacher’s spine, and Zayn practically tripped over his feet in an effort to leave the stifling presence of the head administrator’s office. 

 

***

 

“ _There_ you are!” Ed gaily sang out as he accosted Zayn in the main hall after school. 

Despite his best efforts to avoid the music teacher, he’d been cornered as he was returning from the library.  “Oh, uh…hi, Ed,” Zayn greeted him, glancing around the hall guiltily.  It wasn’t like Zayn wasn’t allowed to speak with Ed at all, but he still felt as if he were pressing his luck.  It hadn’t been all that long since Zayn had been given a clear directive from Dr. Payne not to ‘fraternise’ with the music teacher.

And now here he was…fraternising.  In the main hall.  Out in the open.  Where everyone and their mother could see.

“One would think you were hiding from me or something,” Ed said somewhat hesitantly. 

Zayn smiled uncomfortably back at him, trying to look as natural as possible.  “Hiding?  Ha, that’s funny,” he said, forcing out a laugh.  “Why would I be hiding from you, Ed?”

The thing was, Zayn didn’t want Ed to hate him.  He cared about what other people thought about him—especially people he genuinely liked.   Zayn had already decided he would talk with Ed after he had everything figured out, after he’d found the words to make him understand, to let him down gently. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t even close to figuring anything out.

Above all, Zayn didn’t want to hurt the other teacher’s feelings.  He didn’t want Ed to resent him just because he valued his job as a teacher at Payne Academy and was trying to do the right thing.

“Good,” Ed declared, face breaking into a relieved grin.  “Because, well, I was hoping we could—”

“Hey listen, man,” Zayn interrupted quickly, “I’ve got to set up a few…er…things in my classroom for tomorrow before I forget.  Why don’t you text me later, alright?”  The lie felt like it was burning his tongue, and it wasn’t even a complete lie because Zayn _did_ have things to do. He needed to have that talk with Ed soon because, clearly, his conscience couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Oh…okay,” the ginger responded with marked disappointment.

“Great!” Zayn returned, slapping the man’s back.  “See you later, Ed!”

He sprinted away before Ed could respond.  Zayn was in such a hurry to get out of the painfully awkward situation that he bulldozed right into Louis Tomlinson as he rounded the corner of the hallway leading to his classroom.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry,” Zayn said breathlessly as he knelt to sort through the books and papers they had dropped. 

Louis crouched beside him.  “I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing, Malik, but I’m not falling for it,” he hissed before snatching his things from Zayn’s hands.   

Zayn rose unsteadily, sent off balance by the pure viciousness of the older teacher’s words.  He hadn’t meant to bump into Louis like that; it was only an accident.  Zayn glanced around the hallway for backup, but soon realised he was on his own with a very emotionally-unstable-looking drama teacher. 

“Game?” Zayn questioned, genuinely confused by the other teacher’s manner.  “What are you talking about?”

“Just don’t mess with my mate, yeah?  He doesn’t need some young know-it-all strutting his stuff and trying to make him look bad.  He’s worked too bloody hard for that.” 

Zayn’s eyes widened.  “I wasn’t trying to make Harry look bad.  I swear that’s the last thing in the world I ever intended to—”

“Save it, Malik,” Louis cut in, blue eyes blazing.  “That innocent crap may work on others, but it won’t work on me—not anymore.  I can see right through that act of yours.” 

“Can I help you with something, Tomlinson?” Niall demanded out of nowhere, footsteps fast approaching like the Seventh Cavalry galloping to the rescue.  Zayn couldn’t remember a time when he was happier to see his best friend. 

“No, Malik and I were just discussing a personal matter,” Louis snarled, “but apparently, he can’t have a conversation without his minder present.”

“Piss off, Tomlinson.  I can tell from Zayn’s face that he doesn’t want to continue the ‘conversation’ you two were having.”

“You fight all his battles for him then?” Louis scoffed, and Zayn could feel his face redden.  Whether it was from anger or shame, he wasn’t certain.

Niall glared at Louis who glared back at him with equal ferocity in return.  “Listen, if you expect me to stand aside while you act like a fecking tosser, then you’ve got another think coming.”

Louis laughed shrilly and something about the misplaced mirth echoing through the halls made Zayn’s skin erupt in goose pimples.  “ _He’s_ the one who started it, for fuck’s sake.  You and him both, Horan—and don’t you bloody forget it.”

“Well,” Niall seethed, “just because you think you’re a big man at this school doesn’t mean you actually are, Tomlinson—and don’t _you_ forget that.”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t forget,” Louis smirked, seemingly revelling in the confrontation.  The two men were at each other’s throats now, neither looking like they’d back down any time soon.  “I don’t forget or forgive perfidies easily.”

“ _Perfidies_?!” Niall ricocheted back.  “You need to wake the fuck up, man, and realise we’re not living in some Shakespearean drama!”

“ _Niall_!” Zayn reproached.  “We’re in _school_ ,” he reminded his friend—and Louis as well.  He couldn’t believe this misunderstanding had escalated to the point where threats and f-bombs were being bandied about in the middle of a school hallway. 

“Sorry, Zed,” Niall murmured before zooming in on Louis again.  “Look, I’ve no clue what you’re going on about, mate, and I’m sure Zayn doesn’t either.  All I know is that you don’t like me, and let me tell you, the feeling’s bloody mutual.”

“You sure about that, Horan?” Louis smirked, tilting his head towards Zayn who wanted to crawl into one of the student lockers about now.  “You might want to have a little chat with Malik here, just saying.”

“If you’re trying to suggest something, then just bloody spit it out,” Niall ordered through clenched teeth.  “Or even better, piss off, why dontcha?”

“Most happy to oblige,” Louis simpered, “but let me say this has been a most enlightening conversation.”  His x-ray-like gaze fell upon Zayn, and the history teacher hung his head ashamedly, unable to say a word.  “Guess Malik doesn’t tell his bestie everything after all.”   

“Goodbye, Tomlinson.”

“Yeah, see you around, newbies!” Louis called, laughing again, as he strutted down the hall.

Niall’s hands were balled into tight fists at his sides.  “Not if we can help it,” he mumbled under his breath.  When the smoke finally cleared, he practically pounced on Zayn.  “What was _that_ all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn sniffled, more shook up from the encounter than he had realised at first.  “I should have told you.  It’s just that I…well….”

Niall let out a breath.  “Let’s go, yeah?  Just leave whatever’s unfinished; I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.  When we get home, you can tell me all the things you’ve evidently been keeping from me, and I’ll do my best to help you sort it all out.  Sound good?”

Zayn nodded obediently and quickly gathered the few things he needed from his classroom.  He was about to re-join his friend in the hall when he suddenly froze.  “Crap—I forgot to check my e-mail,” he cursed, smacking his forehead.  “Would you mind waiting a minute, Ni?  You know how Dr. Payne gets when we don’t check it.”

“You want to set it up on your phone,” Niall grumped.  “Nah, on second thought, that’s a piss-poor idea; you’d never stop working then.”  His gaze flitted down the hall before returning to his friend.  “Oi, can’t you wait until we get home?”

“But what if I need to do something _here_ , Niall?” Zayn whinged.  “What if I forgot to turn in a form or something?  It’ll just take a sec, I swear.” 

Niall grunted and folded his arms across his chest.  “Fine, but if that chancer decides to return before you’ve finished, I’m not responsible for my actions.”

 

With that in mind, Zayn immediately rebooted his computer.  There was another message from his principal, the second of the day:

 

> _I am pleased to announce that you have been assigned a new mentor.  Please report to my office tomorrow morning before school for further instructions.  -LP_

 

Zayn exhaled slowly, not realising how tense he had become after spotting the e-mail from his principal.  As it turned out, Dr. Payne had good news to share with him for once.  As he shut down his computer, Zayn couldn’t help but wonder who Dr. Payne had chosen to be his new mentor.  Endless possibilities fluttered through his mind—some better than others.

Niall cleared his throat loudly, and Zayn quickly finished up.  He didn’t want to keep his friend waiting—especially since Niall was understandably bothered by the run-in they’d just had with Louis. 

Zayn would explain everything to Niall tonight at dinner.  He was sure Niall would be on his side (after he finished scolding Zayn for not alerting him about the Harry situation earlier, that is).  Niall would certainly concur that ending the mentoring arrangement was Zayn’s best and only choice.

And who knows?  Maybe Niall could persuade him he’d made the right decision because even now, Zayn still wasn’t completely convinced.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zayn will get his new mentor next chapter...who will it be?   
> You can also expect some major drama (literally) as well as another glimpse of Liam's POV.   
> (Just a side note, but there will be explicit content in the next one. You've been warned, lovelies. xx)


	8. Chapter 8

 

“Your ‘daughter’ has cholera, Mrs. Anderson?” Ms. Hart clucked, rolling her eyes in Zayn’s direction as he walked up to her desk bright and early the next morning.  “What a shame; I guess that means she won’t be able to make it for opening night of the play on Friday.  I’ll be sure to let Mr. Tomlinson know so he can tell her understudy, Jessica Smethurst, to be ready.”

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing as she listened to the frantic talking on the other end of the line.  “What’s that?  She’s recovered?” Jo inquired sweetly.  “Will wonders never cease,” she deadpanned before adding a few parting words and hanging up.  “Sorry about that.”

Zayn waved off the apology.  “Just out of curiosity—do you often get calls from ‘parents’ saying that their student has cholera, Ms. Hart?”

“Jo, and no,” she answered with a laugh.  “Usually, I let Terri handle the call-ins, but she’s not here yet.  Also, they’re not all as creative as Lainey Anderson.  Then again, what else would you expect from the drama department?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn teased, “maybe a bout of influenza or a touch of diphtheria?”

“Followed by good-old consumption,” Jo snickered, playing along.  “But enough about the trials and tribulations of working in the school office of Payne Academy.  What can I do for you, hon?”

“Is he in?” Zayn whispered, sobering up as soon as he recalled his reason for being there.

“When is he not?” 

Zayn nodded, took a deep breath, and rapped lightly on the door to the principal’s office. 

“Come in, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn shot a confused glance back at Jo, wondering how in the world Dr. Payne knew it was him when the door was still closed.  She just shrugged one shoulder in answer to his unspoken question, then turned back to whatever was on her screen, fingernails clacking away as Zayn pushed the door open.

Dr. Payne looked particularly well-tailored today, dressed in a grey pinstripe with matching waistcoat.  He motioned the young teacher towards a seat at the hexagonal table while he half-sat, half-leaned against the front of his desk.

“Well, I will get straight to the point.”  Dr. Payne looked at him squarely, as if wanting to fully gauge his reaction to the news he was about to share.  “I am pleased to inform you that _I_ am going to act as your mentor for the remainder of the year.”

Zayn opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it.  He had prepared himself for nearly any possibility—even Louis Tomlinson, but he hadn’t expected _this_.  Now, he had to be incredibly careful about how he responded; otherwise, he could say goodbye to his teaching career.

“What is it, Mr. Malik?” Dr. Payne asked, clearly perturbed by the less-than-enthusiastic response. 

Zayn’s mind spun as he tried to think of a reasonable excuse.  “I’m sorry, sir, but isn’t…I mean, isn’t it a…a conflict of interest for you to act as my mentor _and_ my evaluator?” 

Dr. Payne’s lips curled up in that supercilious attempt at a smile.  “Not at all, Mr. Malik.  In fact, I am looking forward to moulding you, shaping you into a Payne Academy teacher.”

“Oh,” he replied dumbly.  He felt like the walls of the small office were closing in on him.   Never did Zayn imagine _this_ possibility when he requested a new mentor.

Never in a million years.

In fact, Niall hadn't either—or if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it when they ran through the list of likely replacements the night before.  As expected, Niall had agreed wholeheartedly with Zayn’s decision to 'sack' Harry after he told him everything—or _almost_ everything. 

"In any case, Mr. Malik," Dr. Payne continued, bringing Zayn back to the conversation at hand, “there’s no reason why Mr. Styles’ name shouldn’t remain on your mentorship forms.  I didn’t want to tell you this earlier, but it is severely frowned upon by the state to switch ‘horses,’ as it were, midstream.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise, sir.”  It seemed Zayn was constantly making mistakes left and right.  He briefly considered asking his principal if he could have Harry back as his mentor, but then, he figured that might not go over well.

“But don’t worry your pretty little head about that, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne stated graciously, “I am _more_ than willing to serve in a mentoring role for you.  I’d like you to think of me as…as a father figure.  Could you do that, Mr. Malik?”

“Er…yes, sir,” Zayn responded, slightly bewildered by his bizarre request.  Granted, his principal was a few years older than him, but he wasn’t old enough to be his father.  Not by any means.

“Good,” Dr. Payne approved, looking more than pleased.  “But let’s just keep the fact that I’m mentoring you on a need-to-know basis, yes?”

Dr. Payne’s eyes seemed to hypnotise like a snake charmer’s.  As Zayn stared into the dark orbs, he felt a hand rest upon his knee.  Zayn’s eyes widened as the hand crept a few inches farther up his thigh.  Spider-like fingers fluttered against the thin material of his trousers, causing a tingling sensation to run up and down his leg.

“ _Well_ , Mr. Malik?” the other man prompted, coaxing an answer to a question Zayn had already forgotten.   “Are you alright with our little secret?  After all, it _is_ for your own good.”  He gently squeezed the fleshy part of Zayn’s thigh, causing the teacher to inhale sharply.  Instantaneously, Zayn moved his leg away, his body repelling against the unexpected contact. 

“Um, yes…thank you, sir,” he replied lamely, his mind spiralling.  And Zayn must have imagined it—the tension, the inappropriateness of the touch, everything—because Dr. Payne seemed so completely unaffected.  As usual, Zayn was simply being paranoid; it was all in his head.

Dr. Payne was just being fatherly, as he said. 

“Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne simpered, the satisfied smirk transforming his usually attractive features into something quite different—something almost unsettling. 

Zayn could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he waited to be dismissed.  Candidly, he didn’t understand why he was so uneasy.  He just knew that everything suddenly felt wrong.

 _Very_ wrong.

 

***

 

“Zed, have you even heard a single word I’ve said?” Niall complained loudly from across the lunch table. 

“Um, not really,” he acknowledged.  “Sorry.”  He forced himself to stop listing every conceivable adverse effect of having Liam Payne as his mentor.  He’d already gone through the list several times now anyway.

“Hey, why don’t you eat something, Zayn?”  Ed’s concerned eyes flicked across the history teacher’s untouched lunch tray. 

“He _has_ been eating something,” Niall retorted, “just take a look at his fingernails, why dontcha?”  Zayn instantly pulled his thumbnail from his mouth, wishing he could go back to his classroom almost as much as he wished his best friend would stop pointing out his bad habits in public.

“Niall, leave him be, yeah?” Ed scolded, coming to Zayn’s rescue.  “He’s obviously got something on his mind.”

“He _does_ have something on his mind,” Niall agreed, obviously referring to the mentoring situation, “but, as usual, he’s making a mountain out of a molehill.” 

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Zayn grumped.  “I’m just not hungry, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Ed replied, relieved.  “So why’d you get a lunch then?” 

Zayn noticed the ginger eying his cheeseburger and fries like they hadn’t just come off the production line of the school cafeteria.  “I have no idea.  I’m seriously not hungry at all.”  He pushed the tray towards the other teacher.

“Stall the ball—never thought _that_ day would come,” Niall scoffed.  “And bagsy on the chips, Ed!” he shouted before grabbing for the carton. 

Ed tugged it back.  “Nice try, mate, but Zayn gave ‘em to me.”

“Oi, I called bagsy,” Niall protested as the carton ripped in half, spilling fries all over the centre of the table.  Niall snatched up a handful and dumped them on his own tray.  “Ha!”

Zayn surveyed the scene with antipathy.  “I’m just going to pretend I don’t know you two.”

“So basically what you’ve been doing all week then,” Niall cracked with only a hint of sarcasm.

Even Ed caught on this time.  “You two alright?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” Niall answered, “Zed’s just got his knickers in a twist over the fact that he’s got to start working with Dr. Payne.”

“Working with Dr. Payne?” Ed repeated, looking back and forth questioningly between them.

“Zed, you mind if I give Ed a rundown of the facts so he’s not completely in the dark here?”

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn returned absently.  He listened with one ear as he glanced around the lounge for any signs of Louis, Harry, or—God forbid—Dr. Payne.  Zayn wasn’t certain if he should be sitting with Ed or not after his boss informed him that he was aware of their budding relationship and that romantic relationships between faculty members were explicitly forbidden.  Zayn had tried avoiding the lounge as much as humanly possible this past week, but it just made Ed and Niall ask more questions.  He knew, sooner or later, they would start to get suspicious, and so Zayn finally caved and joined them in the lounge.

The annoying part of the whole thing was that he was just following protocol, just adhering to Dr. Payne’s reasonable request, but again, he knew Niall wouldn’t see it that way.  He’d say something along the lines of… _what happens out of school, stays out of school, Zed_.   And Ed, well, he seemed to really like Zayn.  A lot.  He probably wouldn’t understand either.

Luckily, Dr. Payne was nowhere in sight, but Zayn eventually spotted Louis and Harry (a.k.a, Dr. Payne’s main spy) sitting at a large table in the far corner.  The pair appeared carefree, joking and conversing with the other veteran teachers around them.

Louis suddenly glanced in his direction, and the drama teacher’s expression instantly transformed into a scowl when he saw Zayn.  After what seemed like ages, Louis broke eye contact, returning his attention to the lively conversation at his table as if nothing had happened.

“Zed, I thought I told you to quit biting your nails; they’re starting to look a right mess.”

Zayn slammed a hand down on the table.  “I’ve got to go,” he mumbled as he got to his feet.  Niall and Ed just stared up at him, mouths agape at his admittedly uncharacteristic action.  Zayn didn’t get angry very often, and he showed his anger even less.

But today, his tipping point was dangerously low, and he’d had enough.

“Zed!” Niall called after him, but Zayn was already halfway out the door.

 

***

 

“Listen bro, I didn’t mean to be such an arse at lunch today,” Niall apologised once they had gotten back home after a long, silent drive from Payne Academy.  “I shouldn’t have been harping on you like that, acting like a proper jackeen.”

“It’s fine, Ni,” Zayn slowly exhaled, relieved that his best friend was speaking to him again.  The spat they’d had at lunch had been gnawing at him all afternoon.  “I know you were just trying to help in your way.  I shouldn’t have been so sensitive; I just…I don’t know what’s come over me lately.”

“You’re stressed, that’s all.  It’s going to be alright though.  Things will work out if you stop worrying so much…about EVERYTHING.”  He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, and Zayn playfully swatted at him.  Niall grinned back at him before plopping on the couch and elbowing Zayn in the chest.  “Oi, you want a night out, mate.”

“But it’s a school night.”

“Just listen to yourself, bro,” Niall tsked.  “Why don’t you ring Ed, then?” he recommended and even the mere suggestion gave Zayn an ulcer.  “I’m sure he’d love to hang out with you, and it’s not like you’ve anything better to do.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Wait—don’t tell me!” Niall teased, scratching his clean-shaven chin as if he were deep in thought.  Then, he snapped his fingers.  “I’ve got it:  What is worry about work tomorrow?”

“You’re a dork,” Zayn snorted, flinging a throw pillow at him. “And tomorrow I actually _do_ have a reason to be worried about work, thank you very much.”

Niall cocked a brow.  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Well, I have to meet with Dr. Payne before school tomorrow for my ninety-day review.” 

“That it?” Niall asked incredulously.  “I have my ninety-day tomorrow as well, ya eejit.  Jo said it wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.  Ed, too.  All Payne has to do is sign off on a couple of forms stating how we’re meeting professional standards as expected and what-not.  It’ll be a doddle, mate.”

“Well, it still means I have to meet with him in his private office, doesn’t it?” Zayn whinged.

“You better get used to that if he’s going to be your mentor,” Niall advised with a chuckle.  “Besides, from what you’ve told me, your evaluation meetings so far couldn’t have gone better.”  Niall snapped his fingers again, his face lighting up like he’d just had the best idea ever.  “Oi, why don’t you come out with Jo and me tonight?”

“Um…thanks but no thanks.”

“You sure?  We’re going to Fontana’s, and I know you haven’t eaten much today.  What do you say?” he urged.

“No, I’m good,” Zayn assured him.  It was a generous invitation, but Zayn had no intention of being a third wheel. “I think I’ll just stay in and get caught up on a few things, heat up some leftovers or whatever.”

“Alright, but don’t forget we’re going to the school play tomorrow night,” Niall reminded him as he got up from the couch.

Zayn nodded; he hadn’t forgotten.  Attending a school production wasn’t the most spectacular way to spend a Friday evening, but it was a great deal more exciting than what Zayn normally was up to (or not up to). 

“Hey, Niall?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You’re serious about Ms. Hart… _Jo_ , I mean.  Aren’t you?”  Strangely, Zayn felt as if he were crossing a line of their friendship by asking the question, but he felt like he had to know Niall’s true intentions.  Zayn didn’t want any more people in the school hating them than absolutely necessary.

“Yeah, reckon I am,” he confessed, smiling as he removed his keys from the hook by the door.  “ _And_ …I’ve a feeling I fancy her as much as you fancy a certain ginger,” he teased.

Zayn didn’t quite know how to respond to that so he didn’t.  “Have a good time.”

“Always do,” Niall grinned before heading out for his date.  At Fontana’s.  The same restaurant Ed had taken him to.  The same restaurant where he’d seen Dr. Payne.  Zayn found himself wondering whether Dr. Payne would be there, whether he’d bring the same raven-haired beauty he’d brought the last time….

“Argh!” Zayn screamed at the walls of his empty apartment.  He lay back on the couch and covered his face with a pillow, groaning in frustration at the way his mind kept wandering back to trifling, inconsequential matters.

_What difference did it make whom Liam Payne dated?  What business was it of his?_

And for probably the tenth time that week, Zayn wondered what on Earth had come over him lately.

 

***

 

As students, parents, faculty, and other residents of Wisteria Falls shuffled into Payne Academy’s theatre, Zayn couldn’t help but gawk at the grandeur around him.  With red velvet curtains, gold accents everywhere one looked, and Italian marble pillars, the Smethurst Auditorium had the timeless beauty of old Hollywood. 

This was a massive event for Payne Academy, the opening night for the current season and, more precisely, opening night for the school’s much-anticipated production of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s _Evita_.  Apparently, the fine arts played a huge role in the success and favourable reputation of Payne—a fact Zayn hadn’t fully realised until that night.

Louis stood proudly on stage, shielding the glare from the stage lights with one hand as he surveyed the fantastic turnout for that evening’s performance.  He cut quite a figure in his perfectly-tailored dark suit and tie against the rich, red backdrop, hair conservatively swept back with styling gel.  Even without knowing, one could immediately ascertain that he was the man in charge.  The director clearly appeared to be in his element as he strutted about like a peacock, shouting a few last-minute directions to the orchestra pit.

When the house lights began to dim and the voices of the audience dulled to a low murmur, Zayn anxiously glanced back towards the main doors from his seat in the fifth row.  Niall was nowhere to be found. 

Even though they had arrived together, they had somehow become separated in the foyer:  Niall being held captive by a few wealthy-looking Board members while Zayn was accosted by a gaggle of students.  One girl indirectly asked if Niall and him were on a date and several of the group seemed elated when Zayn laughed it off.  They obviously had their sights set on the boyishly-handsome culinary arts teacher who was (thankfully) smitten with the school secretary.

He’d have to remember to tell his clueless best friend to turn down the charm a notch and watch his step with Payne Academy’s newly-chartered and rapidly-growing Niall Horan fan club.  Zayn wasn’t the least bit concerned that he could have a similar following though.  For starters, he taught history, wasn’t half as out-going as Niall, and assigned way too much rigorous work to ever be labelled the ‘cool’ teacher.  (And just for the record, he was _more_ than okay with that.)

Another minute ticked by without a sign of Niall, and then Louis approached centre stage to address the audience:

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” Louis greeted them smoothly, “and thank you for attending Payne Academy’s first performance of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s _Evita_. 

“For those of you unfamiliar with the subject matter, this is based on a ‘true’ story of a beautiful, but calculating and ambitious, ingénue who rises to power through morally dubious and otherwise… _questionable_ means.”  He glanced meaningfully around the auditorium for effect, effortlessly capturing the audience’s attention with his natural ease and charisma.

“I’d like to dedicate tonight’s performance of _Evita_ to a new teacher at Payne who, I believe, is in the audience tonight.”  As he spoke, the director’s gaze wandered in Zayn’s direction, seemed to burn right into his soul.  “And as a history teacher, I’m sure he would be the _first_ to tell you how often history repeats itself.”

Louis paused dramatically as he scanned the audience with a smug confidence, almost challenging someone to disagree with him.  “And so without further ado,” he announced with a puckish smirk as he lasered in on Zayn again, “Mr. Malik—this one’s for you.”

The overture started up, and Zayn began to fantasise about the possibility of spontaneous combustion.  Between Louis’ scorching insults and the heat of embarrassment created by a thousand sets of eyes judging Zayn in the darkness, the idea was more than attractive.

At least he now knew where he stood with Louis.  The man thought Zayn was ambitious, calculating, and power-hungry.  And he had just broadcasted it to a packed theatre.

Time had seemed frozen, but now as Zayn returned his fretful gaze to the stage, it was as if the time-space continuum was no longer interrupted and events once again played out in real time.  Zayn hazily watched as the drama teacher triumphantly strode out of the spotlight and back into the wings.  A second later, someone rose from the front row and sprinted up the steps of the stage, disappearing right behind Louis.  Zayn couldn’t be sure, but that shadowy silhouette seemed awfully familiar.

As the music swelled, Zayn closed his eyes tight and settled back in his seat.  He wished he could just walk out, just forget this evening ever happened, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw any more attention to himself.

And then someone slid into the seat next to him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Niall whispered.  “I got caught up with a possible donor; think she’s going to help me get that bistro idea off the ground.  Did I miss anything?”

Zayn swallowed the lump in his throat.  “No.” 

“Brilliant!  Hey, you know who’s playing the lead role, right?”

“Who?” Zayn inquired politely.  He couldn’t care less at this point, but he didn’t want Niall to get suspicious either.

“Lainey.  Lainey Anderson.”

“So she no longer has cholera then?” Zayn deadpanned.

“Sorry?”

“Never mind,” Zayn dismissed, training his eyes on the empty stage.  “It’s not important.”

Niall seemed to accept his answer.  “Glad I made it in time.  Lainey said she’d be right gutted if I missed any of the show.”  He sighed, shaking his head.  “She’s been going through a lot lately—poor kid.”

Zayn didn’t know what was going on with the girl; she wasn’t even a student of his.  Maybe that was why he had decidedly less sympathy for her than Niall.  “Show’s about to start,” Zayn whispered.  “We should probably stop talking now.”  Even in the darkened theatre, Zayn could tell that Niall was surprised by his bluntness. 

Sometime during the first act, Zayn saw the same dark figure that had followed Louis into the wings return to his seat.  This time, Zayn was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the mystery man was Dr. Payne.

 

***

 

> _15:20.  My office.  Observation #3 overview.  Limited time. **Don’t** be late.  -LP_

 

Zayn groaned so loud it echoed off the walls of his empty classroom.  He hadn’t been looking forward to returning to school on Monday, not after what happened Friday night.  Still, he hadn’t expected to be welcomed by an e-mail from his mentor/principal…and in snarky telegraphese, to boot.  

He didn’t see anyone the whole school day—well, he saw his students, of course—but he didn’t leave his classroom and no faculty member wandered in.  It made everything easier to hide from view, to pretend Louis hadn’t humiliated him in front of the half of Wisteria Falls.  (And if his students were gossiping about any of it, at least they had the decency not to even mention the incident in front of him.  It made him like them even more.)

He was in the office at the appointed time and about to knock on the principal’s door, when Jo stopped him. 

“Someone just went in five minute ago.” 

“Student?”

“Not exactly sure who it was so I don’t know how long they’ll be.  I just know he had someone with him when he closed the door,” the wide-eyed brunette apprised him.  “Do you have an appointment?” 

“Yeah, three-twenty.”

“In that case, he shouldn’t be long.  If there’s one thing Dr. Payne can’t stand, it’s when his appointments get off schedule,” she related with a goofy, exaggerated eye-roll.  “Why don’t you have a seat?” 

Zayn listened to her sunny chatter as he waited, guessing she hadn’t heard anything about Friday night.  She was the school secretary though, the centre of the Payne universe, so he assumed it wouldn’t be long before she found out.

On the other hand, maybe he was doing precisely what Niall had warned him about—making a mountain out of a molehill.  Maybe what Louis had said wasn’t quite the character assassination Zayn thought it was at the time.  After all, he hadn’t heard a single person mention the incident since it happened….

“Zayn?”

“Hm?”

“I asked if you’d like to go out for drinks or a coffee sometime,” she smiled patiently.  “I’d love to get to know you better since your Niall’s best friend and all.”  

“With Niall?”

“Either,” she shrugged.  “I bet you could tell me all sorts of embarrassing stories about him.  Also, well, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you….”

“Oh yeah.  Sounds great,” Zayn told her distractedly.  It wasn’t that Zayn didn’t like her; he genuinely did.  It was just that he was mentally preparing himself to be called into the principal’s office at any given second.  She seemed more than pleased with his answer, though, and when she returned to her typing, Zayn returned to studying the hands of the clock on the wall.

That was when he heard it:  muffled voices coming from inside the principal’s office.  Normally, one couldn’t hear a peep coming from beyond that door.  The room had to be sound-proofed—to some degree anyway—because the most one could hear, as a rule, was Dr. Payne’s bellow following a knock.  But now, the volume and intensity of the voices therein rose and rose until there was little doubt that an extremely heated argument was playing out only a few feet away.

“Oh dear,” Jo murmured uneasily, “I wonder if I should stick my head in, make sure everything’s alright in there?”  She looked at Zayn for approval—approval he certainly wasn’t going to give her.  “Yes, perhaps you’re right,” she hummed at last, drumming her fingernails on the desk anxiously. 

A moment later, the door burst open, revealing the last person Zayn ever expected to see quarrelling with Dr. Payne: 

Harry Styles.  Principal’s pet, Harry Styles.

Dr. Payne was glaring daggers at the English teacher, and Zayn didn’t even know what to think at that point.  The world seemed to have gone all topsy-turvy.

“Mr. Styles,” the principal warned, tone as dark and sharp as an obsidian blade, “you need to have a good, long think about what your priorities are, and that’s the last I’ll say on this matter.”

Zayn stood awkwardly in the middle of the outer office, trying to wrap his head around the complete impossibility and preposterousness of the scene that was unfolding before him.  He couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Jo.  The secretary was wearing the same dumbstruck look that, surely, must have been plastered across his own face. 

Harry noticed him first.  His former mentor turned on him, eyes like an emerald fire as he spat out, “I hope you’re happy.”  Then, without another word, he stomped away.  The best Zayn could do was stare in shock at the retreating figure. 

Dr. Payne cleared his throat, and Zayn whipped back around so quickly, he nearly lost his balance.  “My deepest apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Malik.  Under the present circumstances, I feel it best that we reschedule our appointment.  Let’s shoot for tomorrow after the staff meeting, perhaps?”

“Oh, great!  I mean…uh yes, that would be fine, sir,” Zayn recovered.  Dr. Payne gave a sharp nod, then turned on his heel, shouting something to his secretary about not wanting to be disturbed before slamming the door behind him.

As Zayn left the office, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d just received a twenty-four hour stay on an execution from the governor. 

 

***

 

(Liam’s POV)

 

Another night.  Another drink.  Another unsuccessful attempt at keeping his mind off work.

Candidly, it didn’t help that Styles insisted upon acting like a child earlier, throwing a proper wobbly in his office.  Perhaps, Liam had been too lenient with him, allowed him too many privileges to the point where he’d forgotten his place.  Styles was the only person in the entire building who had earned his trust, the only one who deserved it…until today anyway. 

In retrospect, maybe Liam should have thought twice about enlisting his star teacher’s help with Zayn.  But Styles had served his purpose well—acting as a valuable mentor for Zayn as well as an invaluable reporter of the novice teacher’s ‘extracurricular’ activities.  Of course, Liam never expected Zayn to find out about his little agreement with the English teacher.  That being said, Liam couldn’t be happier with the result.

Except now, Harry Styles was becoming difficult.

 _Very_ difficult.

He was questioning Liam’s decisions, challenging his authority, and this type of gross insubordination was something Liam simply couldn’t tolerate.

Not even from his star teacher.  ( _Especially_ not from his star teacher.)

Worst of all, the unfortunate incident prevented Liam from meeting with Zayn, thus setting his plans behind schedule.  In truth, Liam could have squeezed Zayn in before his conference call, but he was afraid of doing something rash, of doing something that would ruin his weeks—no _months_ —of careful planning. 

He had to be patient just a little longer.  He had to settle, and Liam Payne didn’t fancy settling.  Not one bit.

Tonight, Liam had to make due with Francesca, the beautiful Francesca, who was sat at his feet, naked, and mewling like a cat in heat.  She was fit—he’d give her that much—but she wasn’t enough to satisfy the overwhelming desires and urges that overtook him since the day Zayn Malik walked into his life.  Rather, the Italian model was a means to an end, a way to get his mind off work for a handful of minutes or hours.

But that was all.

Liam regarded her now, willing and on her knees, and the scene barely affected him.  His dick was almost flaccid when he began pumping it, coaxing it to semi-hardness.  She looked pleadingly at him, and Liam generously granted her permission to take over.  But even as her pouty lips enclosed the tip, the obnoxious sounds escaping her throat disgusted him to no end.  The look in her eyes as his thick girth filled her repulsed him even more.

Francesca never got him going.  He wasn’t stupid; he knew she was mostly in it for his money—his family’s money, really—and little else. 

And well, maybe his dick.  She seemed to be _quite_ interested in that as well. 

Liam closed his eyes and imagined Zayn’s full lips trailing down his length instead of the red-stained pair of his Italian _ragazza_.  Liam felt his hardening member twitch as he pictured the young teacher in her place.  Zayn was so innocent, so uncorrupted, so eager to learn.  He was like a porcelain doll:  perfectly-crafted, beautiful, and fragile.  If one played too rough with a toy like that, it was sure to break.

But Liam wasn’t too bothered by that.  He had always been the type to take good care of his toys so that they lasted a long time, so that he could get _full_ enjoyment out of them.

And Liam planned to enjoy every inch of Zayn Malik.

With that thought in mind, Liam came—and came hard, shooting his first load down Francesca’s throat as she gagged and then began grunting like a satiated pig.  Grasping the base of his dick in his shaking hands, Liam pulled out, painting white ribbons across Francesca’s features and pillowy breasts as he came a second time.  Then, he lay back against the couch, contented for the time being.

“Keez me, darling?” Francesca cooed, attempting a sultry look.  

Liam only felt contempt.  She wasn’t Zayn, and maybe that wasn’t her fault, but it still irked him nonetheless.  “Why don’t you take a shower,” he muttered back.  “You look a right mess.”

She stood up abruptly, spitting and cursing at him.  As Liam saw it, she was lucky he allowed her to stay over.  She wasn’t deserving of his attention or his time, and Liam would have explained all this to her if her ugly, emotional display didn’t prevent him from doing so.

But apparently, there was no need.

Still fuming, she snatched her clothing from the floor.  Liam watched in quiet amusement as she dressed hurriedly, scowling and hissing at him the whole time.  Slinging her leather coat over a shoulder, she marched out into the chilly November night without so much as a backwards glance.

_Good riddance to bad rubbish._

She’d be back…not that he’d take her back.  He was done with unnecessary, trifling distractions; resolved to focus on things far worthier of his time.  Tomorrow would be the beginning of bigger and better things.  Tomorrow, Liam was going to have his first mentoring meeting with Zayn. 

Tomorrow was going to be a _great_ day at Payne Academy…of that, Liam was certain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how much do you all hate me after that? (Feel free to answer silently in your heads, lol.) 
> 
> Anyway, many of you guessed that Liam was the new mentor so kudos to you! :) There'll be more on that next chapter. Also, Louis played a significant role in this one...any thoughts? ;) Finally, I'd love to hear what you think about any of the other characters at this point (Harry, Niall, Ed, Jo, etc.).
> 
> Thank you for the overwhelming feedback. I've been working on another fic with a fast-approaching deadline, but your comments inspired me to finish this and get it out to you as soon as I could. 
> 
> P.S. [Money Moves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549374/chapters/31087848), my submission for the Ziamficexchange2k17 has been revealed, so you might check that out while you're waiting for the next update--if you haven't already. (Also be sure to check out all the other fabulous fics in that exchange!) Cheers for now! ~Maree xx


	9. Chapter 9

 

“Well, blow me,” Niall declared as soon as they were all sat at their usual table.  “Can you fecking believe he said yes?”

“Language,” Zayn hummed disapprovingly, glancing around the crowded lounge, “and who said yes?”

Before Niall could reply, his mentor teacher, Patricia Cunningham, touched his shoulder.

“Sorry to disturb you, boys,” she apologised, same sweet smile as always.  “I just need to talk to Niall for one teeny-tiny moment.”  And maybe it was just Zayn’s imagination, but her smile seemed to freeze briefly as her eyes fell upon him—not that Zayn had time to worry about that.  No, he had other things on his mind.

Like chocolate milk, for example.

While the mature woman spoke with her mentee, Zayn frowned at his milk carton.  He wondered how, with centuries of human invention, no one had been able to improve upon this particular design. 

Or maybe it was just him.  Maybe he was just a klutz, incapable of the simple task of opening a darn milk carton.

But somehow, he doubted it.

Thus, he sat there, studying the accursed vessel, trying to decipher a way to open it without spilling half its contents all over his shirt.  His new dress shirt.  His new Hugo Boss _white_ dress shirt that he really shouldn’t have bought except he fell in love with the black piping details and Niall said it looked like it was tailor-made for him.

And honestly, it kind of did.

That was why he decided to wear it today along with his skinny fit black trousers.  He had spent yesterday hiding in his classroom, quaking about whether there would be repercussions from the reputation-flogging he received on Friday night, courtesy of one Louis Tomlinson.  Today, he decided to try a new tactic.

He wasn’t going to hide; he was going to stand his ground.  He was going to dress to impress.  After all, it _was_ his first proper mentoring meeting with Dr. Payne today—Dr. Payne who lectured him at the start of the school year about making more of an effort on his appearance—and he would prefer not to attend it with chocolate milk all over his designer shirtfront.

“Need a hand, mate?” Ed asked, evidently sensing Zayn’s internal struggle.

“On it!” Niall chirruped, snatching Zayn’s milk carton and expertly opening it in three seconds flat without spilling a single drop.  “You know I’m always here to save the day, Zed,” he winked, presenting the milk on his palm as if it were ambrosia from the Gods.

Zayn snorted as he accepted the ‘offering.’  “What would I ever do without you, Ni?”

“God willing, we’ll never find out,” Niall cracked, and Zayn would’ve elbowed him if he weren’t too busy chugging his chocolate milk.

“Just for the record,” Ed grumped, “I offered to open it first.  But anyway, who said yes, Niall?”

“Payne—who else?” Niall returned, screwing his face up at Ed like it was blatantly obvious.  “And I nearly shit myself when he did.  I was like, stop the bleedin’ lights and repeat that, will ya, Payno?”  

“You didn’t!” Zayn gasped.

Niall cackled, knocking Zayn in the shoulder fondly as he rose from the table, presumably to retrieve his food from one of the staff microwaves.  “’Course I didn’t, ya nutter.  I’m not a complete eejit, now am I?  Wouldn’t want to muck up an opportunity like this, would I?”

Zayn and Ed looked at each other, then erupted into laughter.  They were still sniggering as Niall returned.

“Oi, you two taking the piss or something?”

“No,” Ed chuckled, “we’re just trying to suss out what you’ve been going on about for the last five minutes.”

Niall set his plate down and rolled his eyes good-humouredly.  “So remember the school bistro idea I had?”  Zayn and Ed nodded because of course they did.  Niall talked about it every chance he got.  “Well I spoke with Dr. Payne, and he gave the greenlight on it!”

“Oh my gosh—that’s fantastic news, Ni!” Zayn squealed, jumping up to give his best friend a hug.  Niall returned the hug with his usual exuberance, somehow managing to lift the taller man off his feet while practically crushing his spine in the process, but Zayn was too ecstatic to care.  He knew this was a goal of Niall’s for the longest time, and he was overjoyed that, _finally_ , something was going right in their lives again.

“Ahem.” 

Zayn turned to see Ed raising an eyebrow at them.  Almost instantly, Niall’s hands dropped to his sides. 

“Ed,” he said with some exasperation as he sat back down, “I thought we told you that there’s absolutely nothing going on between Niall and me.”

“ _I_ know that, but that doesn’t mean everyone else does,” the music teacher reminded them in a low tone.  

Zayn scanned the room.  He noticed several curious pairs of eyes on them and decided Ed might be right.  Zayn was determined not to hide anymore, but that didn’t mean he needed to draw unnecessary attention to himself either.  He turned back to Niall.  “So…when does this whole bistro thing kick off?” 

“I was planning to send home fliers tomorrow,” Niall informed them, digging into his lunch.  “Could start as early as next week if I get enough interested students by then.”

“Don’t think you’ll have much trouble finding ‘interested’ students, mate,” Ed snickered, winking at the other boy.  “You’ll be turning them away, I bet.”

Zayn silently agreed.  Despite their short tenure there, Niall was quickly becoming one of the most popular teachers in the school—with the students at least.  “So how many days a week are we talking?”

“Three…maybe four, but I haven’t sorted out all the details yet,” Niall acknowledged.  “I reckon Friday’s going to be the late day since that’s when the bistro will be open to the public and all.”

“Well, you can count me in as a customer,” Ed grinned.

“Me, too.”

“Cheers, lads.  Oh and Zed…,” Niall began a little apprehensively, “this bistro thing’s going to be murder to get off the ground at first.  Even after it gets going, the time commitment’s likely to remain something fierce….”

“I get it, Ni, and I’d be more than happy to help if I can.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Niall replied, and Zayn waited for him to expound.  “It’s just that this might throw a spanner in the works with our driving arrangement.  I’ll be staying late nearly every day between meetings and this club.”

Zayn threw a grape at his friend.  “Ni, you’re talking to _me_ ,” he scoffed.  “Asking if I’d mind staying late after school is like asking a gambler if they’d mind hitting the jackpot.”

“Why do I feel like I’m enabling your worst qualities?” Niall wondered aloud, looking pointedly at his friend.  Zayn smiled guiltily in return.  “But speaking of working late, I’m going to need to get a few things sorted after the staff meeting this afternoon.  I probably won’t be able to leave until well after five, Zed.”

“Hey, Zayn,” Ed spoke up, baby blues hopeful, “I’d be more than happy to take you home.”

“Thanks, Ed, but I’ll just wait for Niall.”  The music teacher’s face fell, and it made Zayn feel like an awful human being and even worse friend.  “I’m meeting with Dr. Payne about my next observation after school,” he explained quietly.  Even though Ed and Niall knew about the mentor situation, it wasn’t exactly supposed to be common knowledge.

Ed seemed over the moon that Zayn wasn’t just blowing him off like he’d done more than once lately.  “Oh!  Well, just know that the offer stands anytime you’d like.”

“Not to change the subject,” Niall began, “but have you heard back from Payne on the course proposal you submitted—you know, the popular music class you two were gonna do together?  It’d be grand if we all had something to celebrate.”

Zayn bit his lip.  Something told him there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in ‘H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks’ that Dr. Payne would approve of that particular collaboration—not after the principal warned him about spending too much time with a certain ginger-haired music teacher.

“Nothing yet,” Ed relayed, “but I’m still crossing my fingers and toes.  And if worse comes to worse, there’s always a chance we can do it next year.”  

Zayn smiled weakly back at the other boy.  He couldn’t even begin to think about _next year_.  For the love of everything good and holy, Zayn was just trying his best to get through the trials and tribulations _this_ school year kept lobbing at him.  The only time ‘next year’ ever crossed his mind was when he was daydreaming about how far away he could get from this place—and with his dignity still somewhat intact.

“Oh, by the way,” Ed whispered, leaning over the lunch table, “did you hear the news?”  His blue eyes swept across the lounge as if checking for people eavesdropping on their conversation—not that anyone would.  The vast majority of the staff could probably care less what a bunch of ‘newbies’ were discussing. 

One thing Zayn knew for certain was that if anyone _did_ care, it wouldn’t be Payne Academy’s celebrated English teacher who was currently glaring daggers at him from across the lounge.

“What news?” Zayn and Niall chorused together.

“The news about Tomlinson,” Ed divulged slowly as he continued to case the room.

Niall’s eyes bulged.  “What about Tomlinson?” he demanded.

“Shhh!” Ed shushed him.  “Harry Styles is looking at us, and I don’t want him to think we’re talking about him.”

“We are talking about him,” Niall deadpanned, rolling his eyes, “and who gives a shite about what that wanker thinks?”

“ _Niall_ ,” Zayn hissed, but the boy next to him just shrugged. 

“Just speaking the truth, Zed.”

Ed seemed torn.  “I don’t think it’s fair to demonise Harry,” he told Niall, and Zayn could tell it was something he’d been wanting to get off his chest for a while.  “Whatever Harry did, he probably had a good reason for it.”

“Bollocks,” Niall coughed into his hand.  “He turned out to be a gobshite, just like his best mate.”

Zayn stayed quiet.  He didn’t know how much Niall or Ed knew about what happened on Friday night.  Luckily, neither of them had been in the theatre when Louis made his ‘dedication’ speech.  Still, Zayn knew news travelled quickly around this place. 

“Oi, so what’s this news about Tomlinson then?”

Ed leaned in closer, voice conspiratorial.  “He’s been suspended.”

“He’s been _what_?” Zayn asked incredulously, jaw dropping to the floor.  He looked to Niall, and the other boy appeared equally flabbergasted.

But then, everything started to make sense.  So _that_ was the reason Harry had looked at him with resentment raging in his expressive eyes.  It was undoubtedly the reason Harry had been arguing with Dr. Payne in his office, endeavouring to plead Louis’ case before losing his temper. 

Zayn just didn’t understand why Harry was so upset with him—well, about the Louis situation, anyway.  As Zayn saw it, it was only a matter of time before the drama teacher’s carefree and rebellious soul clashed with their principal’s strait-laced, ordered universe.

“Well, to be accurate,” Ed clarified, “he’s on ‘personal and family leave’ or something.”

“Why?” Niall asked, and Zayn’s heart nearly skipped a beat as he awaited Ed’s answer.

“Don’t know,” Ed confided, and Zayn forced himself to breathe.  “I heard all this from Jensen—the chemistry teacher, yeah?  According to Jensen, the personal leave is just a cover-up.  There’s a rumour going around that Louis is going to be suspended…indefinitely…if he doesn’t get in line with whatever Dr. Payne asked him to do.”

Zayn felt positively rotten.  No matter what Louis had done to earn the ire of their boss, Zayn didn’t want to see the veteran teacher’s career completely ruined.  Teaching wasn’t like other professions.  You couldn’t just pick up and get another job at another school if you were disgraced at one school—and especially an institution like Payne.  If the drama teacher was formally suspended, it would go on his record as well.  He probably wouldn’t lose his licence, but it would definitely be a serious mark against him if Dr. Payne decided to go ahead with the suspension.

And yes, Louis Tomlinson was far from Zayn’s favourite person right now, but Zayn didn’t want to be the cause of his suspension either.  (And he had a sinking suspicion that what happened on Friday night at _Evita_ might have been the impetus for Louis’ so-called ‘leave.’)

“What about the upcoming plays?” Niall inquired, and yeah, that hadn’t even crossed Zayn’s mind.  “Weren’t there just auditions for a winter revue or something?”

“There’s a student directorial team,” Ed informed them, “and Harry Styles has helped oversee productions in the past so….”  Ed shifted nervously in his seat.  “Speaking of Harry…I’m not sure I quite understand why you’re no longer being mentored by him, Zayn.”

Zayn frowned.  “I was under the impression that Niall already explained all that?”

“He did some, but…well, _Harry Styles_ was your _mentor_.  Man, I’d kill for a chance to be mentored by that bloke.  I mean, have you seen him teach?” the ginger gushed.  “It’s like watching a master class.”

“I am fully aware of how amazing Harry is as a teacher which is why he is still, in fact, my mentor.”  Zayn’s heart beat faster as the lie left his lips.  Technically, it wasn’t a lie because Harry still held that status officially. 

Ed’s nose scrunched up in confusion.  “But I thought—”

“It’s complicated,” Zayn cut him off, looking to Niall for support.

Niall cleared his throat.  “What Zed is trying to say is that Styles and Payne are sharing the responsibility now—right Zed?”

“Yes,” Zayn affirmed, shooting a grateful glance at his best friend.  “Dr. Payne is partnering with Harry, filling in for a while, and um yeah.”  Zayn wrung his hands under the table.  He disliked misleading the music teacher, but Dr. Payne was probably right about keeping Zayn’s whole mentoring situation on a need-to-know basis.  It was better if Ed only knew half the truth for now—especially when he was apparently such a Harry Styles fanboy.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Ed stated, buttering his roll.  “Harry certainly has his hands full.  Besides mentoring you, he’s got his regular class load, responsibilities as chair of the English department, the extra administrative duties Dr. Payne gives him, and now, apparently, the winter revue.  And to top it all off,” Ed added with emphasis and a sympathetic glance in Harry’s direction, “I reckon he’s worried that his best mate’s gonna get sacked.” 

“Yeah, that’s got to be stressful,” Zayn observed sincerely.  “And honestly, I feel bad—for both of them.”

“Really?” Niall snorted, eying the boy next to him with disbelief.  “I’ve been waiting for you to burst into a happy dance since Ed told us the news.  Jaysus, how can you not be overjoyed that Tomlinson’s piss-taking at _Evita_ put him in the shitter?”

“Oh, you _were_ there,” Zayn groaned.

“No, Zed, I wasn’t,” Niall returned a little snappishly, “but I did hear about it afterwards.  Needless to say, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me about it,” he reprimanded, shooting Zayn a reproving look.  “And let’s just say that the bastard was lucky I wasn’t present because I would’ve gone up on that bleedin’ stage and sorted him out, let me tell ya.”

Zayn closed his eyes for a split second and once again saw Dr. Payne running with purpose to accost Louis in the dark theatre.  “Think Dr. Payne beat you to it,” he mused wryly, “and I’m sorry, Ni; should’ve told you what happened, but I was embarrassed.”

“S’fine,” Niall assured him, smiling around the words.  “Just don’t keep shite like that from me in the future, yeah?”

“What _did_ happen?” Ed questioned.

Niall’s face turned grim.  “Oh, Tomlinson was starting something, as usual.  Apparently, he’s ill set on making everyone think Zayn’s a conniving slag.”

Ed’s eyes widened.  “Hey, you reckon that’s why he’s taking ‘leave’?”

“As much as I’d like to think so,” Niall replied, “it sounds a bit far-fetched.  Wouldn’t doubt it could’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back though….”

Zayn remained quiet.  Recent events flashed through his mind, culminating with Harry’s livid accusation in the office:

_“I hope you’re happy.”_

Zayn felt sick to his stomach.

Undefined suppositions bubbling to the surface, Zayn staggered to his feet.  It was still five minutes to the bell so he mumbled something about needing to prepare for his next class.  He then left the table, half his lunch, and a pair of very surprised faces.

Right now, Zayn just needed to be alone to think.  There was a lot to think about.

 

***

 

Jo was on the phone when Zayn entered the office for his meeting later that afternoon.  He glanced at the clock and saw it was still relatively early—the staff meeting having been cut short for once—so he quietly took a seat in the vacant waiting area, his dismal thoughts keeping him company.  Specifically, Zayn ruminated on the rumour about Louis’ possible suspension.  At lunch, Zayn had felt weighed down by the turn of events, by the fact that he might have been partly responsible.

But then, he changed his mind. 

During his plan time, Zayn had come to the conclusion that he was overreacting (as usual) and that even if Dr. Payne was upset about Louis’ affronts, it was surely just the tipping point in a long list of trespasses by the drama teacher.  Niall had practically said the same thing.  And the more Zayn thought about it, the more he realised how foolish the idea sounded, presuming Dr. Payne would suspend a teacher solely based on a few catty remarks in public.  Heck, Dr. Payne, himself, had belittled and insulted Zayn on numerous occasions—also in public (albeit considerably _less_ public). 

And yes, maybe what Louis said _was_ inexcusable.  The veteran teacher had intimated that Zayn was ambitious and calculating before bringing his morals into question.  Zayn could understand the ambitious part to a certain extent because Zayn _was_ ambitious.  He wanted to be one of the top teachers in the school—in the country, even.  He didn’t think there was anything wrong with that as long as he was willing to put in the hard work it took to get there. 

But he definitely wasn’t calculating.  Crap, Zayn didn’t have a calculating bone in his body.

Zayn suspected it all came down to the mentoring melee.  Louis had already accused Zayn of trying to discredit Harry to get a better standing in the school, but that wasn’t the case at all.  Zayn had no idea as to whether Louis knew the full story or not, whether Harry had told his best friend that he was practically spying on his mentee for their principal.  Either way, Louis was quick to judge, to assume Zayn had thrown Harry under the bus the first chance he got.

Even harder to understand, though, was that Louis could stand up on that stage and denounce Zayn’s moral character.  Zayn was the consummate goody-two-shoes.  He didn’t drink, didn’t curse, rarely smoked (and only when his nerves got the better of him), and he _certainly_ wasn’t promiscuous—not that that was any of Louis’ business.  At twenty-two, he was still a virgin, believing one should save themselves for the right person and preferably wait to be intimate until marriage.  Zayn believed in fairy tales, white picket fences, love-at-first-sight, and happily-ever-after’s. 

But above all else, Zayn believed in making a difference.  This was why teaching was _everything_ to him.   This was why he was willing to put his personal wishes and desires on hold. 

So when Louis intimated that his moral code was subpar in front of a large audience of his peers, students, and their families, it bothered him.  A lot.

“Can I help you?” Jo asked, tone a little clipped (or maybe Zayn just imagined it).

Zayn pushed his thoughts back and tried to look as cheerful as he could.  “Good afternoon, Jo.  I was just waiting to meet with Dr. Payne; we had to reschedule our meeting yesterday, if you remember.”

“Oh, that’s right.”  She spoke curtly, glancing up at the clock.  Zayn followed suit and saw it was still a few minutes before four.  “You could probably go in early, Mr. Malik.  He doesn’t have anyone with him.”

“Why so formal?” Zayn chided.  “The students have already left.”  She smiled tightly back at him, and Zayn wondered if she was upset about something.  He figured it had been a bad day in the office—something completely understandable with how closely she had to work with Dr. Payne every day. 

He stood up, then hesitated as an idea suddenly flashed into his head.  Even though Zayn wasn’t the most sociable person, Joanna Hart seemed like a genuinely nice person and Zayn needed all the friends at this school he could get.  Moreover, Niall was obviously serious about her. 

Bucking up his courage, he decided to go for it:  “By the way, I was hoping I could take you up on that offer….”  Jo looked up at him with a blank expression.  “Your invitation for coffee?” Zayn clarified, shuffling his feet.  Getting the normally garrulous secretary to respond today was like squeezing blood from a turnip.  “Well, I’m available any day after school this week so, uh, just let me know, yeah?” 

“I’m busy this week, _Mr. Malik_ ,” she answered brusquely.

“Oh, I…um, yeah,” Zayn stammered.  “Yeah, that’s totally cool.  Just, uh, let me know when your schedule lightens up,” he added, a warm flush visiting his cheeks.  Zayn hadn’t expected her to react so negatively to the suggestion.  She always seemed so friendly towards him…until today.

_Great, someone else who despised him._

He was almost relieved when he entered the dragon’s den a minute later.

“Close the door and have a seat,” Dr. Payne directed without looking up from his computer screen.  “And thank you for being willing to meet so late in the afternoon.  I wouldn’t normally schedule a mentoring session after a staff meeting, but I felt it was imperative that we get your…personal development plan underway.” 

“No problem at all, sir.”

Dr. Payne typed furiously for another minute, then concluded with one final key stroke, a grand flourish reminiscent of a concert pianist performing Tchaikovsky’s Concerto No. 1 in B Flat Minor. 

Immediately upon looking up, Dr. Payne blinked as if caught off guard.  “Is that new?”

Zayn felt a pair of dark eyes rake over him, and he suddenly regretted his decision to wear his present outfit.  He worried he might have dressed _too_ nicely for a mere mentoring meeting—even if it was their first official one.  “Yes, um, it is.”

“I trust I’m not keeping you from dinner plans?” the principal remarked tersely, dark orbs flickering up to meet Zayn’s gaze.  “Or, for that matter, any other plans you might have made for this evening.”

“Oh no…not at all, sir,” Zayn squirmed.  “I’ve been trying to follow your advice—about dressing for success?  And since this was our first mentoring meeting, I wanted to…to….”

“Make a good impression?” Dr. Payne supplied, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

Zayn blushed.  “Um…yeah, basically.”

“Well, I’m happy to say that if that was your goal, you’ve accomplished it in droves, Mr. Malik.”

Inwardly, Zayn heaved a giant sigh of relief.  “Thank you, sir.”

Dr. Payne rose and walked over to have a seat next to Zayn at the hexagonal table.  He snapped opened a folder chock-full of papers.  “Shall we begin?”

The first half of the meeting passed uneventfully.  It was much like any other meeting he’d had with his former mentor—except Harry was a whole lot less intimidating than Dr. Payne.  

They mutually came to the decision that Dr. Payne would observe Zayn’s World Geography course.  His principal outlined what he would be looking for in the lesson without being too specific.  He reviewed strengths from Zayn’s previous observations and encouraged him to maximise opportunities to learn wherever possible.  When Dr. Payne closed the file folder and instructed him to submit his final lesson plan a week in advance, Zayn foolishly thought their mentoring session was coming to an end.

“Just two more things,” Dr. Payne announced, and Zayn peered back at him curiously.  “Speaking as your mentor, I believe it is essential that we meet on a regular basis to establish an effective working relationship, a relationship wherein you feel comfortable enough to discuss any questions or concerns you may have about your personal and professional growth.”  He paused, seemingly to gauge Zayn’s reaction.  “I am your acting mentor, and I do not intend to do a perfunctory job of it.”  Dr. Payne leaned in closer, an almost conspiratorial note to his manner.  “I would expect a similar commitment from you.”

“Of course.”

“Good.”  The man seemed pleased, but really, Zayn was the one who should feel fortunate.  Although it was customary for mentors to touch base with their mentees on a weekly basis (at the bare minimum), new teachers weren’t mentored by their administrators.

And yes, there was probably a good reason for that.  At best, it was clearly a conflict of interests for the mentor and evaluator to be the same person—whether Dr. Payne acknowledged that fact or not when Zayn had brought it up last week.  At worst, it might be construed as a violation of teacher-administrator protocol. 

But, more importantly, working one-on-one with Dr. Payne gave him the chance to learn from another master educator.  Plus, Zayn was hoping that by meeting with Dr. Payne on a more frequent basis, he might be able to conquer his fear of the man.  For all intents and purposes, this could be the immersion therapy he needed to get over his phobia of the intimidating Liam Payne.  

Dr. Payne cleared his throat, and Zayn snapped to attention.  “I’ve reviewed my calendar for the remainder of the term, and I should be able to carve out some time on Wednesdays after school.” 

“3:15 or 3:30?”

“Better make it 16 hundred hours—just to be safe.”  Dr. Payne looked at him for confirmation, but Zayn didn’t know what to say.  If they didn’t meet until four, that would mean the session wouldn’t end until five (or possibly, even later on occasion).  “Will that be a problem, Mr. Malik?” his principal pressed, lips forming a tight line.

“Well, the fact is…,” Zayn stalled, trying to circumvent an embarrassing disclosure.  “The fact is, I generally get a ride from Niall—Mr. Horan, I mean—since we share an apartment and expenses and all.  And also, I, um….”

“Yes, Mr. Malik?”

“Well, I don’t really drive,” Zayn confessed, biting his lip ashamedly.  It was a secret he hated to admit, but luckily, Dr. Payne didn’t seem to judge him for it.  It was almost as if he knew, or at least, expected it.  “Anyway,” he continued, “I wouldn’t want to assume Mr. Horan could stay that late on a weekly basis without speaking to him first.”

“Oh, is that all?” Dr. Payne inquired lazily, lips curving up at the edges as he leaned back in his chair.  “I spoke with Mr. Horan this morning about his plans for an afterschool culinary programme.  I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I granted him permission to start straight away.  Perhaps, he hasn’t had the opportunity to mention it to you yet?”

“Actually, he did.  It just slipped my mind for a moment there,” Zayn apologised sheepishly.  He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten all about Niall’s excitement over Dr. Payne okaying his bistro idea.  Zayn was certain that Niall would use Wednesdays for his club since it was the one day of the week (besides Friday) when meetings and events were seldom scheduled after school.  “Wednesdays would be perfect.”

“You are quite sure you don’t mind the lateness of the time?  After all, the office is technically closed then,” Dr. Payne reminded him.

“Well, I figure I might as well do something productive—I mean, if I’m basically going to be held captive here anyway,” Zayn answered lightly.

Dr. Payne’s lips quirked, an almost gleeful-glint in his eyes.  “That’s an interesting way to put it, Mr. Malik.  Very interesting, indeed.”  

Before Zayn could respond, the other man straightened up, drumming his fingertips on the table as if to punctuate the conversation.  “Well, that’s settled then, isn’t it?” he observed almost cheerfully.  “One hour weekly.  That should give us plenty of time— _plenty_ of time.  You would be amazed at how much I can accomplish in an hour—or even less.”  Once again, it seemed the hint of a smile twitched at his lips and sparkled in his chocolate quartz-like eyes.  “Now, I have one final matter to discuss with you.”

Zayn swallowed.  It was becoming more and more difficult to meet the other man’s penetrating gaze. 

“You see, Mr. Malik, I was hoping we could come to an… _understanding_.”

“An understanding?” Zayn echoed, more than a little puzzled.

“Yes, an understanding between two like minds,” Dr. Payne declared smoothly as he made his way back to his desk, flinging the file folder in the centre of it.  “I believe you need me in many ways:  you need me to approve your progress for the state so you can receive your full professional licence; you need me to help guide you as a mentor; you need me to provide the proper working and learning environment for you; and you need me to deliver a positive recommendation if—on the rare possibility—you ever decide to leave this school.”

Zayn waited for the man to continue because he knew all that.  Of course he did.  _Every_ new teacher did. 

“Additionally, Mr. Malik, you may find you need me for _other_ things, things you don’t even know you require at this point…but I’m getting ahead of myself.”  Zayn watched as he leaned back in his chair and swung one charcoal-trousered leg over the other.  Dr. Payne peered at him from half-closed lids, his fingertips pressed together in that spider-like way of his.

Now, Zayn was downright baffled.  “Um, sir?” he spoke up.

“Yes,” the older man susurrated, staring at Zayn in a way that made him lose all train of thought.  Zayn bit his lip and studied the shadows that the setting sun and partially-open blinds cast upon the room.  The striped effect made his mentor/principal appear almost sinister.

And well, maybe he shouldn’t focus on that.  He was nervous enough as it was.

(But it was hard not to.)

“Well, Mr. Malik?” Dr. Payne prompted, leaning in.  The shadows played tricks, making it appear as if the man were wearing a mask, further unsettling Zayn’s nerves.

“I’m s-sorry, sir,” Zayn stammered, fidgeting nervously with his French cuffs, “but I’m still not clear on w-what you mean exactly by an ‘understanding.’”  

“Ah.  I was simply outlining the ways in which you require my support and guidance before revealing the fact that there is a great deal you can offer _me_ in return.”

“Oh, like my teaching, you mean?” Zayn suggested a little unsurely.  “Are you referring to raising student scores on the state-mandated high-stakes assessments?” 

“Yes, of course,” he conceded, impatience creeping into his tone.  “Payne Academy does have a reputation to uphold; however, that is not the only way in which you can…er…assist me.”

Zayn just stared at him, utterly confused.

“Mr. Malik, I know you are a first year teacher, but I believe you are one of my greatest assets in the building.  You are extremely gifted, and I would be a fool not to take advantage of you…of _that_ , I mean,” he hurriedly corrected himself, shifting slightly in his chair.

“Wow, thank you, sir.”

“No need to thank me, Mr. Malik.  I am merely stating a fact,” he demurred, strangely detached even as he proffered glowing praise upon his novice teacher.  “I am telling you all this because there may be times when I need to call on you as a confidante of sorts, as someone I can trust.”  He leaned forward then, darkly-opaque eyes searching his.  “I _can_ trust you—can’t I, Mr. Malik?”

“Trust me?  I, well, um…of course,” Zayn spluttered.  Then suddenly, he had a revelation.  “Oh, you mean you want me to serve in a role similar to Mr. Styles?  Not that I’m even close to the teacher he is,” he swiftly added, “but, well, uh…you know what I mean…sir.”  

Zayn couldn’t believe how badly he was fumbling over his words.  He waited for his principal to make some derogatory remark, but the man simply regarded him with veiled amusement.

“Not _exactly_ like Mr. Styles, but yes, you are on the right track.”  For some reason, Dr. Payne seemed even more amused by the words he’d just uttered.  “You may now leave, Mr. Malik.  Thank you for your attentiveness.”  And with that, Dr. Payne opened another file, his attention immediately absorbed by the top paper staring back at him.  

Zayn awkwardly rose to his feet and crept towards the door, not wishing to disturb the man from whatever important matter he was now focused on.

“Oh, one more thing, Mr. Malik!” he called just as Zayn was nearing the safety of the outer office.  Zayn gulped, then pivoted around to face his principal.  “I don’t take kindly to people who are disloyal or who betray my confidence in any way—especially those whose careers I am advancing and otherwise taking an… _interest_ in.”

Zayn wondered whether his boss was speaking in generalities or whether he was referring to a specific person (like Harry).  Zayn didn’t dare ask though.  He just nodded his head up and down like a bobble-head doll and waited to be dismissed again.

“Good,” Dr. Payne replied, satisfied.  “And finally, please keep in mind that however I see fit to utilise you and in whatever capacity, I am still your superior and you are to treat me as such.  Are we clear on that, Mr. Malik?”  His voice was once again cold and stern, and Zayn was slightly taken aback by the sudden change from just minutes before.

“Of course, sir.  I would never call your authority into question.  I fully understand my position at this school, and I am grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to do what I love.

Dr. Payne seemed pleased— _extremely_ pleased—with Zayn’s answer, and the history teacher was glad he actually did something right for a change. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malik.  You are free to go now.”

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Zayn escaped the claustrophobic confines of the principal’s office.  He did his best to shake off his slight sense of foreboding as he exited the now-deserted outer office, Jo having already gone home for the day.  He tried to focus on the positive, on how well his first real mentoring session with his new mentor had gone.  The fact that Dr. Payne held him in such high regard—even considered him an asset—was a huge compliment.  It was a good thing any way one looked at it.

_Wasn’t it?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I hope you liked the longer chapter! I was working on a pinch hit for an exchange (both fics I wrote are posted & revealed now, fyi), and I've been doing some travelling across the Atlantic so this took a little longer than expected. 
> 
> So what did you all think about the development with Louis? Does he deserve a rumoured suspension? Also, any new thoughts on Harry? Niall? Ed? Jo?
> 
> Finally, hope you liked the Ziam meeting at the end. ;) Poor Zaynie has no idea what he's getting into....
> 
> P.S. If you like, you can always just leave a comment with your favourite line from the chapter. I live for that shit. Seriously. xx


	10. Chapter 10

 

“Aha!  I _thought_ I’d find you here!”

Zayn froze.  A sense of dull panic washed over him as he sat at his desk.  He felt caught, like he’d been cheating on an exam (even though he’d never dream of doing such a thing, let alone need to).

But he _did_ have a valid reason for feeling guilty, and that reason was currently standing in the doorway to his classroom.

“Morning, Ed.  What are you doing on the second floor?”  He winced at how the words came out, but luckily, Ed didn’t seem to notice.

“Came to see you actually,” Ed replied way too cheerily for a Monday morning.  “As the saying goes, ‘if the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.’"

“That’s…great.”

“Hey, mind if I stop in for a minute?”

Zayn had been expertly dodging the ginger for a few weeks now, ever since Dr. Payne cautioned him against starting a relationship with another member of the faculty.  (More precisely, ever since Dr. Payne cautioned him against starting a relationship with a member of the faculty named Ed Sheeran.)

“Oh…er…no.  I mean, yes—yes, you can come in, that is,” Zayn spluttered, forcing a smile as the music teacher approached his desk.  Zayn knew Dr. Payne probably wouldn’t approve, that the man already had suspicions the pair were disobeying the ‘no relationships’ rule without adding fuel to the fire.

Still, it wasn’t like Zayn could break off all contact with the other teacher—even if he wanted to (which he honestly didn’t).  They worked at the same school; Niall and Ed were close friends; they all ate lunch together.  However, Zayn had been careful not to be alone with Ed.  He didn’t want anyone—especially their principal—to get the wrong idea.  Even if Ed phoned him, Zayn would either let the call go to voicemail or invent an excuse for why he couldn’t talk.  In truth, the first year teacher didn’t have to dig deep to come up with one—he was terribly busy, what with teaching and his upcoming observation. 

But Zayn knew the excuses wouldn’t work forever.  Eventually, he would have to come clean.  Eventually, he’d have to tell Ed he wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with him—not at the moment, at least.  Again, he just hoped Ed would understand, that he wouldn’t judge him too harshly for putting his career first.

“So what happened to our plan?”

Zayn looked up to find Ed standing in front of his desk with arms crossed, a litany of colourful tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up shirt sleeves.  “What plan?” 

“The one where you agreed to meet me in the workroom before school today,” he gently scolded.  “Sound familiar?”

“Crap,” Zayn mumbled, internally kicking himself.  “Sorry, Ed.  I’ve been so focused on my observation today that I can barely remember my own name.”

“It’s Zayn, mate.  Zayn Malik.”

Zayn snorted loudly.  “Thanks, man.”

“Is that a smile I’m seeing?” Ed teased.  “A genuine, one-of-a-kind Zayn Malik smile?”  And as Ed cheekily grinned back at him, a small part of Zayn wished things could be different.  For one, he knew his parents would absolutely _adore_ the music teacher.  (And the fact that Ed and Niall had become closer than butter on toast certainly didn’t hurt—in his father’s eyes, at any rate.)

Maybe in time, circumstances would be different.  Maybe in time, they could try again— _if_ Zayn didn’t screw everything up before it even began. 

Zayn tried not to let on any of his thoughts as he looked up at Ed.  “So what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“I was just gonna wish you good luck on your observation actually, tell you you’re going to smash it and all that,” Ed returned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  “So yeah…good luck!”  He stood there awkwardly, hands now buried deep in the pockets of his khakis. 

It wasn’t hard to see that the music teacher was looking for the right way to ask him something else.  Nor was it hard to determine exactly what that ‘something else’ was.

Zayn sighed.  It was time he put them both out of their misery.  “Ed?” 

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to…er…apologise for, well, blowing you off lately.”

“Don’t be foolish, Zayn.  You’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“Yes, Ed.  I have.” 

“Oh.”  The boy’s face fell, his lips forming a circle as the full weight of Zayn’s admission hit him. 

Zayn hurriedly endeavoured to qualify his harsh statement:  “You see, the thing is that I really like you…as a friend, and maybe…maybe even more than a friend.”  

Zayn looked away, teeth burrowing into his bottom lip.  He had to be careful about how he let the other boy down, how he worded this.  “But the thing is, well, I’m just not emotionally ready to begin a relationship now,” Zayn admitted somewhat truthfully.  “This”—he waved his hand around his classroom--“is simply overwhelming right now.  I’m sure you recall how crazy it was your first year.”

Ed nodded his head slowly.  “I do,” he confirmed softly.

“Maybe things will change at the end of the school year, but for now….”  Zayn stared down at his desk, tried to ignore the feeling in his chest that he was making a huge mistake.  “For now, I think it would be better if we just remained friends.” 

He breathed in and somehow found the courage to look up again.  Ed smiled down at him sadly, then stuck out his hand in an amiable fashion.  Zayn was surprised by the gesture but accepted it gladly. 

“Zayn, of course I’m okay with being mates for now,” Ed assured him.  “I only wish you would have told me sooner so that I wouldn’t have put added pressure on you.”  And if Ed’s unhesitating acceptance didn’t make Zayn feel guilty, his misplaced sympathy certainly achieved that unintended goal. 

Zayn swallowed the lump in his throat.  “I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t be,” Ed cut him off, shaking his head decisively.  “Just please remember I’ll be here for you in _whatever_ capacity you need me to be.  I’ll _always_ be here for you, Zayn.  No matter what.”

“Thanks, Ed,” Zayn struggled out.  If ever a moment felt bittersweet, it was this one.  “I can’t even tell you how much that means to me.”

 

***

 

“Good afternoon, Jo” Zayn greeted the school secretary later that day.

Silence ensued, and for the umpteenth time, Zayn wondered what on earth he could have done to upset her.  It was slightly unnerving to be ignored, but on the other hand, he guessed it was better than being publicly humiliated by Louis Tomlinson in front of a packed theatre.

Zayn was about to take a seat in his usual paisley-patterned chair when his knee collided with the end table beside it.  It was only quick reflexes that prevented the vase on top of it from crashing to the floor.

“Please watch the Devil’s Ivy,” Jo sighed.  “It just came in, and I don’t feel like telling Dr. Payne that his favourite new plant was ruined hours after it arrived.”

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbled back, dusting a bit of dirt off his hands as he reflected on how fitting it was that Dr. Payne had ordered some variety of plant named ‘Devil’s Ivy’ for the office.  He was about to make a second attempt at sitting down when he observed how close the arm of the chair was to the table.  He figured it might be a wise idea to move the table over a couple of inches to prevent another almost-catastrophe.  As he did so however, the potted plant started to teeter back and forth again, and Zayn hurriedly steadied it with both hands.  When the dang thing was finally stable, he took the next seat over (just to be safe).

When he looked up, Jo was staring at him with marked irritation.  But then, something new on the opposite wall seized his attention.  “What are all those for?” Zayn inquired, waving at the massive screen containing grainy images from various parts of the building. 

“The new school safety initiative,” the secretary informed him without so much as a smile or other courtesy.  “Dr. Payne and the Board felt the school required extra surveillance.”

Evidently, Zayn’s expression belied his thoughts because Jo immediately reassured him, “don’t worry.  It’s merely a precautionary measure—nothing more.”

Zayn let out a breath.  “Well, that’s good.  Better safe than sorry, eh?”  He smiled, but the action was far from being reciprocated. 

He cleared his throat.  “Are all those cameras really necessary?  It seems like something of an overkill to me.”

“According to Dr. Payne, it’s not enough,” she recounted, her insatiable thirst for gossip clearly trumping whatever beef she had with the new teacher. 

Zayn raised an eyebrow in wonderment because, honestly, there were a LOT of cameras. 

“In fact,” she shared, lowering her voice another notch, “if Dr. Payne had his druthers, he would have installed cameras in several _classrooms_ as well.”

Zayn frowned as he warily regarded the giant screen in front of him.  “I mean, I don’t know much about this type of stuff, but that seems like it would be an incredible invasion of privacy.”

“Yes, that’s what the Board said, too,” she reported back.  She opened her mouth to say something further, but then clapped it shut, apparently remembering the strong and sudden aversion she had developed towards anything Zayn Malik.  Jo then went back to whatever she’d been working on before Zayn had disturbed her by entering the office. 

Zayn watched the monitors as he listened to the secretary’s fingers clacking away at her keyboard in the background.  There wasn’t much to hold his interest though.  The area at the back of the school by the field house and locker rooms was bustling with activity, but beyond that, he could only see a couple of custodians and the odd staff member or student roaming the remainder of Payne Academy’s hallowed halls. 

Then, on the bottom right screen, he spotted a familiar figure.  Without doubt, it was Harry, dressed in one of his many designer suits and walking with his usual springy gait.  Zayn felt slightly discomfited, watching his former mentor on the screen in a voyeur-like fashion, following his every move. 

He was about to pull his gaze away when he noticed something that made him feel even worse.

Harry had just disappeared out of sight, and Zayn studied the black and white feed closely.  Sure enough, the camera was focused on the hallway right outside his classroom.  Indeed, Zayn’s door was perfectly visible from the camera’s fixed location; it was front and centre, in fact.

“Jo, do you know why there’s a camera pointed at my classroom door?” he asked, his voice sounding more flustered than intended.  

“Hmmm…that’s weird,” she said, examining the screen.  “I’m guessing the camera must have been placed there because you’re at one end of the 200 hallway.  I can check with Dr. Payne, though, to make sure it was installed in the correct location.”

“No, no—that’s alright,” Zayn rushed to reply.  He found it slightly disconcerting that anyone could just sit in the office and observe him as he entered and exited his classroom, but he didn’t want to annoy Dr. Payne with his paranoid concerns.  Jo was probably right; the intention was probably to capture the end of the hallway.  Besides, the camera would probably be shifted to a better angle whenever they made adjustments on these things.  (An angle that didn’t point directly at Zayn’s classroom hopefully.)

The door to Dr. Payne’s office opened then, forcing Zayn to forget about superfluous things like angles of security cameras and why office secretaries disliked him.  Instead, he focused on the feedback he was about to receive for his observation earlier in the day.

After all, that was the only thing that really mattered.

He wasn’t quite as nervous as he had been in previous meetings, primarily due to the fact that the World Geography lesson his principal had observed had gone off without a hitch.  Moreover, Zayn had received stellar reviews during his first two post-observation meetings, and he didn’t see why this occasion would be drastically different.  (He hoped it wouldn’t, at least.)

Not surprisingly, Dr. Payne got straight down to business. 

“I’ll start off with your classroom management, Mr. Malik,” the administrator began once he joined Zayn at the small table.  “It was clear that you had prepared your students well.  The routines and procedures you’ve taught in the past were _firmly_ in place because when the bell rang, your students were ready and waiting to begin.”

Zayn cleared his throat, and Dr. Payne acknowledged him with a brusque nod.  “I’ve, um, been trying to focus on maximising opportunity to learn as you suggested in our first mentoring session.”

“I’m extremely pleased that our sessions together have produced such immediate effects,” Dr. Payne remarked before glancing at his open MacBook where, apparently, he had typed notes on the lesson.  “Generally, you had a _tight_ grip on them.  You stroked their egos yet showed them you weren’t afraid of being in charge.  You didn’t let the large size— _class_ size, that is—overwhelm you.”  He leaned forward, the light from his laptop illuminating his face from below.  His eyes danced with an emotion Zayn couldn’t quite place his finger on.  “But let me ask you, Mr. Malik:  _is size a concern for you?”_

“Of course not,” Zayn answered firmly.  “I understand that sometimes it is necessary to take on a little extra, to stretch one’s self for the good of the school and—are you okay, sir?”

Dr. Payne had gone into a coughing fit, and Zayn felt unsure of what to do.  Then, he spotted a water bottle on the man’s desk and quickly went to fetch it.  As he handed it over and his boss took a swig, he couldn’t help but notice the Batman screen saver flashing across the man’s open laptop. 

“You like Batman?” Zayn asked, a bit stunned.

“Of course not.  Why would you think I liked Batman?”

“Your screen saver….”

Dr. Payne looked at his screen as if it had just betrayed him, and well, maybe it had.  He struck a key, and it returned to the open document.  “Not sure how that happened.”

Her didn’t clarify what he meant, and Zayn tried not to look too disappointed.  It was silly—his excitement over a stupid screen saver.  It was just that, for a fleeting moment, Zayn thought he had discovered something about his boss that actually made the man human.

But really, he should have known better.

“As I was saying,” Dr. Payne started up again, glancing back at his notes, “I’ve been looking at some of our numbers for next semester, and I’d like to add a few more students to your geography classes—if you think you can manage.  I don’t want it to be overwhelming for you.”

“Don’t let my inexperience concern you, sir.  Size doesn’t scare me.  Not in the least.”

Dr. Payne blinked, and Zayn wondered if it was something he said.  It wouldn’t be the first time—Zayn putting his foot in his mouth, that is.  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“Uh…no,” Dr. Payne replied, closing his eyes as he drew in a deep breath.  Soon, the man’s unflappable exterior was, once again, well in place.  “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Malik,” he declared, eyes sparkling, “your answer was far better than I could have ever expected.”  

Zayn resisted the urge to smile proudly; instead, he silently congratulated himself. 

“But let’s transition, shall we, to your execution of the lesson plan.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to this part, sir.”

“As am I, Mr. Malik,” the principal returned smoothly.  “And I will begin by offering a suggestion:  you might consider adding a teaser or similar motivation to the beginning of your lesson.”

Zayn wrinkled his brow.  “You mean instead of just explicitly stating my objective?”

“Yes, Mr. Malik.  There’s no need to be explicit _all_ the time.”  Something akin to a smirk momentarily danced over his ruggedly-handsome face.  “Sometimes circumstances call for a little more… _finesse_.”  He wove his fingers together and regarded Zayn with that piercing, concentrated gaze again, the one Zayn found so incredibly unnerving.  “It’s a personal choice, and I hate to be…well, _anal_ about this, but I find that the more you entice a participant, the more willing they become.  Of course, it’s not necessarily _essential_ that a pupil is completely willing at first.  Sometimes you must persevere regardless because you know what’s good for them.”

Zayn shifted uncomfortably.  “That sounds a little….”

“Go on, Mr. Malik.  I don’t want you holding anything back from me.  Ever.”

Zayn bit his lip.  “Cringey.  I was going to say cringey, sir.”

Dr. Payne untangled his fingers and sat back.  “You must always remember that you have their best interests at heart.  My background is in science so I will use that as an example.”

“Science, sir?  I thought your background was in music?”

Dr. Payne seemed almost insulted.  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I, um, well—”

“You are wasting both our times, Mr. Malik.”

And before he could second guess himself, Zayn blurted out:  “Someone told me you tried out for a talent show once.”

Dr. Payne arched an eyebrow.  “And who, pray, told you that?”

Zayn wasn’t about to respond with the truth, to disclose that Ed was the one who had said it—even if it was way back at the beginning of the semester.  Somehow, Zayn knew it would just ignite the principal’s ire.  “I, um, can’t remember, sir.  I just sort of heard someone mention it.”

Dr. Payne gave him a measured look, but luckily, didn’t press the point.  “Whether or not I auditioned for the X Factor when I was fourteen has little or no bearing on what career path I eventually chose to pursue.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Furthermore, the fact that I progressed well into the final stages similarly makes no difference.”

“Of course it doesn’t, sir.”

“Besides, there was a move to the states and military school to consider.”

“Of course there was, sir.”

“Now as I was saying,” he resumed with a severe look, “I’m going to give you a hypothetical case from science to illustrate my point.”  He relaxed back into his chair, and the tension that had reached a fever pitch mere seconds before gradually eased.  “Let’s suppose a student is not paying attention while a chemistry teacher is outlining laboratory safety procedures.  Should that student be required to learn these procedures before participating in the lab—even if they express an unwillingness to do so?”

Zayn had to admit the answer was ridiculously obvious.  “Without question.”

“Good.  I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Did you teach chemistry then, sir?”

Dr. Payne pursed his lips.  “You are full of questions today—aren’t you, Mr. Malik?”

“You told me not to hold back,” Zayn reminded him, praying he wasn’t overstepping. 

Dr. Payne nodded.  “Fair point.  I primarily taught the health sciences—not that it is pertinent to this discussion,” he added.  “Unfortunately, my time as a science teacher was cut short because of the sudden, er, vacancy in the role of headmaster here at Payne Academy.”

“Vacancy?” Zayn questioned, slightly baffled.  “I thought you founded Payne Academy, sir?”

“I rechristened it Payne Academy so you are not far wrong, Mr. Malik.  Its original name was Wisteria Falls Academy, and technically, my father founded it,” Dr. Payne divulged, eyes turning a steely grey.  “However, make no mistake:  _I_ am the one who made this institution what it is today.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Dr. Payne sighed as if relaying a tremendous burden.  “It was an incredibly fortunate coincidence that I had just graduated with my master’s in educational administration at the time of my father’s rather unfortunate…accident.”  

Zayn swallowed.  “Accident?”

“Yes, he fell down the stairs,” Dr. Payne recounted, carefully wiping off a smudge on one of his cuff links with his handkerchief before returning it to his breast pocket.  The man might have been discussing the weather with how unaffected he seemed.  “No one discovered the body until Monday morning.”

“M-Monday morning?” Zayn stuttered out.  “You’re not saying he died _here_ , are you, sir?”

Dr. Payne gave him another of his long looks.  “Did you think there were ugly non-slip treads on every step of the main staircase for purely aesthetical reasons, Mr. Malik?  Why do you imagine there are so many signs warning against running in the halls?”—he lowered his voice—“signs you might do well to mind more in the future,” he admonished, and Zayn ducked his head guiltily.  “As you well know, I like to run a clean and tidy ship; however, the safety of my students and staff is paramount to me.  One must make exceptions for the greater good and all that.”

“Is that why there’s a new surveillance system?”

“Of course,” Dr. Payne returned instantly.  “Why else?”  The man’s decisive response put any crazy ideas lingering in the back of Zayn’s mind to rest.  “Now if you don’t mind, let’s return to the lesson I observed this morning.  After all, this _is_ supposed to be a post-observation meeting, last I checked.”

Zayn blushed.  “Sorry, sir.”

Dr. Payne waved off the apology.  “Now where was I?” he mused, skimming over his notes.  “Ah yes—lesson design.  This was spot on, and I’m definitely a fan of the _hands-on_ approach.”  He shot a meaningful glance at his mentee.  “Your guided practice and use of modelling was effective.  I especially enjoyed how you took multiple…er… _positions_ during the discussion, and when you chose a position, you really embraced it with _full_ commitment.”  He paused, and Zayn felt like he was expected to say something.

“Thank you for…uh…noticing, sir.”

“You are _quite_ welcome, Mr. Malik.”  Dr. Payne licked his lips.  “Now for your presentation.  I appreciated how you repeatedly _drove_ the point of the lesson home with great _thrust_.  Overall, I felt your knowledge of the topic was clearly evident, and your passion, infectious.  Indeed, I had a _very_ hard time taking my eyes off you.”  With that, he snapped the lid of his MacBook shut.

“Is that all, sir?”

“Just a final piece of advice,” Dr. Payne declared, assuming his favourite pose with legs crossed, fingertips pressed together.  “Never be afraid to have high expectations, to demand the most from your students.  Challenge them.  Don’t push them to their limit— _redefine_ their limits.”

Zayn nodded vigorously, trying to absorb every last word.

“When they’re ready for more responsibility,” Dr. Payne continued, “let them take control—not all at once, mind you, but gradually.  Guide them, _coax_ them to new heights.  Empower them, Mr. Malik,” he advised with a quiet intensity.  “And remember, _nothing_ can come close to the feeling you get from this type of release.” 

He sat back, as if exhausted by his own monologue.  “Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, Mr. Malik?”

“Yes, very much so, sir.”

Dr. Payne regarded him with scepticism.  “I’m not convinced you do; not yet.  However, I believe you are an extremely clever young man, and I am confident that I will be able to enlighten you in the _very_ near future.”

“I hope so, sir.”  

Dr. Payne shot to his feet.  A few strides later, he was standing behind his desk.  “Well, I believe I have kept you late enough.  Anything we’ve neglected can wait until our mentoring session on Wednesday.”

“I’m looking forward to it, sir.”  And he was.  Because even though Dr. Payne’s mere presence unnerved him, Zayn also knew he could learn a great deal from this man.

“I am pleased to hear you say that, Mr. Malik.  And by the way, I would suggest wearing something comfortable—but still professional—next time.  Our focus this week will be on stress relief techniques.” 

Zayn rose awkwardly.  “Thank you, sir, and I’ll…uh…see you on Wednesday.”

“Yes, Mr. Malik,” the principal affirmed, a gleam in his coffee-coloured eyes, “you most certainly will.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm DYING to know your reaction to this one, lovelies. ;) As always, thank you to everyone who has left kudos/comments on this fic. You have no idea how much you inspire/motivate me.
> 
> Next update should be in 2 weeks (maybe less). I'm trying to figure out a good update day with my mad, ever-changing schedule so I'll let you know as soon as I figure it out myself. Come shout at me on tumblr in the meantime. If I don't get back to you right away, I'm either watching the World Cup or ogling Zayn's new GQ cover.
> 
> Just a heads-up, I've outlined the next chapter, and it's a doozy. Mind the warnings because things might be taking a dark turn....
> 
> Much love! ~Maree xx


	11. Chapter 11

 

Zayn paused at the foot of Payne Academy’s main staircase.  The steps swirled in front of him, undulating like some demented accordion.  His stomach churned.  He gripped the railing tighter.

“You alright, Zed?”

Zayn couldn’t speak, too intent on righting the topsy-turvy image before him.  He closed his eyes, but still he felt disoriented, off-balance.

“Sit down,” Niall ordered, and yes, Zayn could do that.  Just barely.  He pivoted around and collapsed on the first step, breathing heavily as he tried to collect himself. 

Niall sat down beside him.  “You alright, mate?” he asked, voice etched with concern.

“Yeah…think so.”

“Good.  Had me scared for a minute there,” his best friend admitted.  “I took one look at your mug just now, and I was dead convinced you’d seen the White Lady herself sliding down that bannister.”

“Didn’t see anyone—living or not,” Zayn joked, albeit a little shakily.  “Just had a dizzy spell or something.  It’s over now.”

Niall wasn’t persuaded.  “Listen, I could take you home if you’re feeling poorly, Zed.  If we leave now, I’d probably be back before the first bell.  We could stop by the office on our way out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I’m _fine_ ,” Zayn insisted, not sure if he was reassuring Niall or himself.  “In fact, you can go on to your classroom, if you’d like.”

“You know, there was a time when you didn’t lie to your best mate,” Niall chided, flicking Zayn on the shoulder.  “Anyway, I was following you up to your classroom this morning because you promised to lend me a book for my mentoring assignment.  Remember?” 

“Oh, that’s right.  We should get going then,” Zayn said, trying to pull himself up using the handrail.  He had a lot to do that morning.  (He had a lot to do every morning.)

Niall tugged him back down.  “We’re not budging an inch until I’m sure you’re good and ready.”

“Someone will think we’re nutty, sitting at the bottom of the main staircase like this,” Zayn grumped.  As if on cue, a couple of maths teachers walked by, sharing a curious look between them before offering a half-hearted wave.

“It’s a tad late to be bothered about your reputation, don’t you think?” Niall mused sardonically after the teachers passed out of sight.

The point wasn’t lost on Zayn.  His reputation had been in tatters since the ‘ _Evita_ incident.’  Sighing, he slumped against his best friend and waited for the world to stay put, once and for all. 

Finally, it did. 

“I can make it now.”  Once they reached the top of the stairs and rounded the corner of the 200 hallway, Zayn felt like a new man.  

“Oi, if that happens again, text me.”

“Will do.”  Zayn unlocked his door and headed inside his classroom, making a beeline for the bookshelf behind his desk.  “Yeah, it was lucky you were there.  Otherwise, I would’ve had to wait it out myself and all.”

Niall scoffed.  “Like hell you would’ve.”

Zayn didn’t dignify his friend’s comment with a response.  (Partly because Niall was probably right.)  Instead, he thumbed along the spines of his textbooks, searching for the one Niall had requested. 

“How’d your observation go yesterday, Zed?  Totally forgot to ask.”

“It’s alright—you’ve been busy with the Bistro and everything,” Zayn shrugged.  “It went really well actually.  Dr. Payne seemed to love the lesson, and he had great feedback.”  Zayn halted his search for a moment, suddenly recalling a macabre detail from the meeting.

“Oi, out with it.”

Sometimes, Zayn really wished Niall didn’t know him so well.  “It’s just…I was thinking about something Dr. Payne mentioned at my post-observation meeting yesterday.”  He looked up at Niall, took a second to organise his thoughts. “Apparently, his father died as a result of a fall from the top of the main staircase.” 

The memory filled Zayn with a morbid unpleasantness.  He expected to read a similar reaction on his friend’s face but maybe with the addition of shock or surprise.  He saw no such thing.  “You already knew!” Zayn accused.

“Yeah…I sort of heard the story from Ed.”

It was all Zayn could do to keep his composure.  “When?” he snapped.

Niall shifted uncomfortably.  “A while ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“No,” Niall admitted guiltily, “and I might have asked Ed not to tell you either.”

Zayn was flabbergasted.  “ _Why_?”

“Because I was afraid that something like what just happened would happen,” Niall declared defiantly.  “I knew it would freak you out.”

Zayn clenched his jaw and turned back to his bookcase.  It was ridiculous, Niall thinking Zayn’s temporary vertigo at the foot of the stairs had anything to do with the late Dr. Payne’s death.  Absolutely preposterous.

“Here,” Zayn muttered, finding the book and shoving it at his friend.  “Thanks for your concern.” 

“Cheers,” Niall replied a little unsurely.  “I better leg it, but um, I guess I’ll see you at lunch?”

Zayn just grunted in return.  Luckily, Niall took it as an acquiescence and left.  School was going to start soon, and Zayn needed to focus on teaching.  He didn’t have time to worry about why his best friend still saw him as the shy, fragile little boy he had been when they first met.

And honestly, he had even less time to worry about freak, tragic accidents or unexplained bouts of vertigo.   

 

***

 

Wednesday started off bad, but then as the day progressed…

it got worse.

It all began when they arrived at school.  Somehow, Niall managed to pull into the faculty lot at the _exact same time_ as Harry, and really, Zayn should have immediately recognised that for what it was:  an omen of things to come.  The strangest part was that they were running late which meant Harry, by simple deduction, was _also_ late.

And that was just plain weird.

The reluctant trio traipsed from the car park in a stiff, uncomfortable silence.  When they reached the main staircase, Niall lingered a few seconds, presumably to make sure Zayn wasn’t struck by another vertigo attack (he wasn’t).  Then, the two remaining teachers, accompanied by a palpable cloud of negative energy, made the trek to the second floor.

When they reached their classroom doors, Zayn summoned all his courage and called out:

“Have a good day, Harry!”

Harry stopped, glanced across at his neighbour with a look that could have been categorised as more tired than scathing.  “Yeah, you too,” he grunted softly before pulling his door shut behind him with a decisive thud. 

Zayn entered his own classroom with a heavy heart.  He was already in a dismal mood, and the school day had yet to begin.  (And honestly, if he knew in advance how the day would go, he probably would have packed it in then and there.)

During first hour, his document camera broke down in the middle of examining some primary source artefacts, the core of his lesson.  During second hour, his Apple TV decided to stop working.  About ten minutes into tinkering with it, an announcement arrived over the school’s intercom, revealing that the building was having “problems with connectivity.”  This was promptly followed by an e-mail from Jo, informing them that the technology issues would most likely not be resolved until the next day.

_At the earliest._

In other words, Zayn was going to have to scrap most of his remaining lesson plans since they all relied upon some form of technology.  He’d have to do some quick-thinking and juggling if he didn’t want the day to be a complete wash.  As a new teacher still learning the ropes, he couldn’t afford to get behind.  Even the thought of possible (probable) snow days looming in the not-too-distant future was enough to instil him with acute consternation.

Needless to say, it was going to be a _very_ long day.

At his lunch hour, Zayn texted Niall to let him know there was a slim to none chance he’d ever be leaving his classroom in the next millennium, and for once, Niall didn’t press the issue.  

After school, Zayn had some time before his mentoring session, so he stopped by the library for some extra books and resources in case the school’s technology issues persisted on Thursday.  Before heading upstairs, he decided to check in with Niall.

The door to his best friend’s classroom was ajar, and the afterschool culinary programme appeared to be in full swing.  The students (primarily female, just as Ed and Zayn suspected) were stood at long tables, rolling out dough and generally prepping for whatever recipe they were about to execute.  Niall was flitting about the kitchen, giving pointers and suggestions in his lilting Irish accent that easily carried over the din.

“Sorry to intrude, Mr. Horan,” Zayn apologised, peeking his head in, “but I was just checking to see what time—”

“Could I talk to you in the hallway, Mr. Malik?” Niall interrupted, tone brusque.  Surprised, Zayn nodded and stepped outside while the other teacher delivered a brief set of instructions to his students.

“Ni, what is it?  Is something wrong?” Zayn inquired as soon as Niall joined him.

“I don’t know, Zed,” his best friend deadpanned.  “Is there?”

“I’m not sure what you’re—”

“Ed,” Niall butted in impatiently.  “I’m talking about Ed.  What the bloody hell did you say to him?”

Zayn gulped.  “Oh, you, uh, heard,” he supplied lamely, diverting his gaze.

“Yeah, so at lunch today, I was going on about how Ed should take you out on another date when he informed me that you two had a ‘conversation’ recently in which you basically said you weren’t interested.”

“Yes, so?”

“So why didn’t you tell me you suddenly changed your mind, you twit?”

“It wasn’t sudden,” Zayn baulked.  “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, Ni.  I just don’t think it’s a great idea to be seeing another member of the faculty right now.  Anyway, it’s against the ethics clause we signed.”

“Bollocks,” Niall snorted.  “No one really bothers about the fine print on those contracts.  They just don’t want teachers to be blatant, like snogging in the bloody hallways and such.”

“It’s still a rule.  Besides, I happen to know for a fact that Dr. Payne—a.k.a., _my flipping mentor_ —frowns upon relationships between faculty members.”

“Dr. Payne frowns upon a lot of things, Zed,” Niall observed drily, “but yeah, if you want to be a goody-two-shoes and follow the letter of the law, then I’m not going to say you shouldn’t.”

“Then why are you still angry?”

“Because you didn’t have to string Ed along this whole time, that’s bloody why,” he snapped.  “You’re not the type to lead someone on—because that’s clearly what you’ve been doing these past few weeks—and I just think it’s shit, okay?”  Niall shook his head.  “Jaysus, Zed.  You should have seen the look on Ed’s face when he was telling me what happened.  Looked proper gutted, he did.”

The comment sparked a glimmer of remorse inside Zayn, but it was quickly engulfed by his growing indignation.  “You’re just upset because I didn’t tell you.”

“Not gonna lie,” Niall retorted, “you certainly could’ve mentioned you weren’t into him.  I must’ve looked a right eejit egging on the bloke after you’d already rejected him.”

“I didn’t reject him,” Zayn insisted loudly before remembering the students on the other side of Niall’s door.  “Look, I just told him I didn’t want to date while we were working together, that’s all.”

“Grand.  You’re still stringing him along then.  Bloody brilliant.”

Zayn let out an exasperated sigh.  “It’s not like that, Niall.  I’m just trying to show a little professionalism.”

“By being a dick.  Yeah, I see.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Zayn remarked coolly.

Niall narrowed his eyes.  “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I mean, you _are_ dating the school secretary, aren’t you?”

“That has piss-all to do with this.  Besides, Jo’s not faculty; she’s staff.  We’ve been through this already.”

“It still seems…improper somehow,” Zayn remarked because it _did_.  “And not to change the subject,” he hissed, “but do you have any idea why she hates me all of a sudden?”

Niall shook his head bitterly.  “Haven’t a bloody clue.  She won’t talk to me either, mate.  Won’t even reply to my texts.” 

At that moment, Zayn wanted to take back everything he’d said.  “Gosh, I’m sorry, Ni.  I…I didn’t know.”

Niall attempted an ironic smile.  “Apparently, we need to talk more.”

Zayn was about to respond when it suddenly occurred to him he had somewhere to be.  “Crap, what time is it?” he panicked, shifting the library books he was holding to glance worriedly at his watch.  He sighed in relief when he realised he still had three precious minutes before his scheduled session with Dr. Payne, just enough time to drop off the books in his mailbox if he hustled. 

“I should get back to my Bistro kiddos,” Niall announced, still sounding a little distant.  “I’ll text you when I’m wrapping up, yeah?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got to run myself—mentoring session, you know,” Zayn said awkwardly, despite the fact he was talking to his longest and closest friend.  “We, uh, good, man?”

“Of course, Zed,” was the instant response; however, it was clear from Niall’s demeanour that they were far from ‘good.’ 

And well, Zayn would have to be ‘good’ with that for now.

 

***

 

“As you are no doubt aware,” Dr. Payne commenced as soon as Zayn was seated, “stress is a normal part of a career in education.  However, it is how we deal with the pressures of our positions that separates those who will rise to the top from those who will rest in the ranks of mediocrity.” 

Zayn marvelled at the simple truth, the eloquent turn of phrase.  “I never thought of it that way, sir.” 

“Yes well, that is why I am here.  But enough about philosophy.  I can see you are battling a great deal of stress at this very moment—am I not correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Zayn acknowledged glumly.  The argument he’d just had with Niall weighed heavily on him; it topped off an already taxing day.  “I’ll be completely honest:  the technology issues were a huge problem for me.”

“Problems are merely disguised opportunities for growth,” Dr. Payne countered smoothly.  “It’s all about reframing things, Mr. Malik.”

“I’ll remember that, sir.”

Dr. Payne quirked his lips into a cryptic twist.  “You don’t believe me.”  Before Zayn could protest, the man rose from his chair and started making a slow, circuitous path around his desk.  “Let’s apply this epithet to the ‘problem’ you just cited.  What opportunities can you glean from today’s experience?”

Zayn was tempted to reply along the lines of ‘ _never use educational technology again,’_ but he knew that wouldn’t go over well, especially considering technology integration was one of the school’s initiatives for the current academic year.  “Um…perhaps I should have an arsenal of activities planned for each unit?  Ones that don’t require technological components?” he offered up instead.

“Very good.  What else?” Dr. Payne probed, sauntering around the table now.  “Did instruction still go on?  Did your students learn something today?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you learn that you can ‘roll with the punches,’ as they say?  That, as a teacher, you can adapt when necessary?”

Zayn was feeling frustration bubble in his chest as his mentor kept circling the small table, questions firing at him from all directions.  “Well, _yes_ , but it was stressful!”

Dr. Payne clucked sympathetically, and Zayn almost felt as if the man were mocking him.  “Why was it stressful, Mr. Malik?”

“Because it was,” Zayn said stubbornly.  “Because I felt like an inexperienced pilot lost in the clouds; I didn’t know which way was up.”  _And it was scary,_ he wanted to add.

Dr. Payne studied him from across the table.  “Sometimes, it is necessary to embrace the unknown, Mr. Malik.”

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t bother with plans, sir?”

“Of course not,” the man scoffed.  “Quite the contrary, Mr. Malik.  I’m telling you to make _more_ plans.  For example, you should have a contingency plan for technology outages, as you suggested earlier.”

Zayn was still confused.  “No offence, sir, but what does that have to do with ‘embracing the unknown?’”

“Teaching, like life, is a chess game,” Dr. Payne posited, finally winding to a stop just behind Zayn’s chair.  “The person who wins is the one who has strategically mapped out every possible move.  One must be prepared for anything and everything, Mr. Malik,” his principal continued, “but one must also have confidence in his abilities to tackle whatever crosses his path.  If one is ready for any prospect, then life isn’t nearly as frightening or nerve-wracking as it first appears.”

Zayn took a moment to digest everything his principal just told him.  “When you put it that way,” he admitted, “I guess it does make a lot of sense.”

“Of course it does, Mr. Malik,” his mentor said calmly, placidly.  “Now, sit back and relax.  I want to try something.”

“Try something?” Zayn questioned, his apprehension returning in a sudden rush.

“Hush, Mr. Malik.  Turn off that over-inquisitive brain of yours and trust me when I say I know what’s best for you.” 

“What’s best for me?” Zayn echoed, craning his neck around so he could get a glimpse of the man still hovering directly behind him.

“Apparently, you’ve a knack for repeating the end of everything I say,” Dr. Payne observed wryly, and Zayn blushed as he snapped his head around to the front again.  “But yes, I can unequivocally state that I know precisely what you need right now, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn swallowed.

“Now, _relax_.”

Zayn made an effort to do as he’d been instructed, to ‘embrace the unknown’ even though the mere suggestion practically made him break out in hives.  His breathing had just slowed to steady, rhythmic aspirations when two hands touched his shoulders.  He jolted at the unexpected contact.

“Sit back, Mr. Malik; I know what I’m doing.”

Zayn quickly did as he was told.

“You have an unhealthy amount of tension in your neck and shoulders, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne mused as sure hands prodded along Zayn’s muscles.  “I’d suggest a warm bath to help alleviate some of the tightness in that trapezius.  A heating pad to the area might also do the trick.”  The principal kneaded the palms of his hands into the sore, tight muscles, and the ache that had seemed to take up permanent residence in the back of Zayn’s neck momentarily dissipated. 

“How does that feel, Mr. Malik?”

“Feels really good, actually,” Zayn admitted, head feeling heavy and lids even heavier.  He cursed the fact that he’d barely slept the night before.  “And thank you for the tips, sir.”

“Of course.  Now, why don’t you close your eyes, and I’ll continue to work on that knot in your neck?”

Zayn bit his lip, wondered what the protocol was for such situations.  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the much-needed neck massage, because he did.  It was more that he felt like he was overstepping…or something.  “Actually, sir, I was thinking I might try that warm bath tonight.  The thing is, I really don’t want to put you out and—”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Dr. Payne cut him off.  “No trouble at all,” he repeated, accentuating each word with a slight pressure from his fingertips.  Then, he delivered a small, synchronised pat to Zayn’s shoulders before retreating back behind his desk.  “Now, how about a little music?” he asked, flipping open his MacBook.  Seconds later, soothing, melodious sounds filled the small office. 

Zayn watched as Dr. Payne discarded his suit jacket, hanging it carefully on the back of his desk chair.  Next, the man began rolling up the sleeves of his white Oxford like a surgeon scrubbing in. 

“Now, just sit back, Mr. Malik, and allow me to do my job.”

“Your job?” Zayn echoed, tensing a little.

“Yes,” Dr. Payne said patiently as he dimmed the lights, then strolled back to where he’d previously been standing behind Zayn’s chair.  “Section 12.7a of the mentoring handbook states that it is an essential duty of the mentor to help his or her mentee deal with the pressures of being a first-year teacher.”

Zayn cleared his throat.  “I, uh, didn’t realise that extended to massages, sir.”

“I believe the directive is open to interpretation,” Dr. Payne hummed.  “I believe most everything is open to some interpretation,” he said smoothly, long fingers drifting up to tickle the hairs at the nape of Zayn’s neck.  “And as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, I prefer a hands-on approach, Mr. Malik.  Now, _relax._ ”

Zayn took a deep breath and endeavoured to clear his head of all the stressors of the day.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t long before he found himself relaxing more and more into Dr. Payne’s expert touch.  As a lilting chorus played through the crisp speakers of the MacBook, he yawned, his eyelids fluttering like a floundering fish as he fought to stay alert.

“ _Much_ better,” Dr. Payne cooed.

Zayn tried to keep his eyes open, but it was a lost cause, what with the dim lights, soft music, and cosy shirt and slacks he was wearing (his mentor had instructed him to dress comfortably, after all).  The small office was warm for once, and his masseuse’s hands, even warmer.  Soon, the ambience overtook him.  He had relaxed to such an extent that he allowed a small, nearly inaudible moan to escape his lips.

Zayn drew a quick breath.  He _really_ hoped his principal hadn’t heard that.

Abruptly, Dr. Payne’s movements intensified, his palms pressing against the muscles of Zayn’s back, kneading his shoulders.  His hands shot forward, fingers skimming over Zayn’s collarbone, then dancing up the slope of his neck.  Dr. Payne’s course widened, massaging as far down Zayn’s back as the constraints of the chair would allow before soaring up and over his shoulders again.

When the tips of his mentor’s fingers brushed against his nipple, Zayn was embarrassed but didn’t think too much of it.  (He was even more embarrassed when he felt a twinge down _there_.)  When it happened for the second time, Zayn suspected it was no accident.

Zayn shot up from his chair.  “I-I should leave,” he hiccupped, tripping over his own feet as he spun around to face his principal.

“Maybe you should,” was the enigmatic reply.

Zayn blinked, then glanced up at the clock to see they still had fifteen minutes remaining in the session.  “Are we…are we finished?”

“Hardly, Mr. Malik.  But if you would like to leave, rest assured, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

Zayn wavered.  His inner voice screamed at him to bolt but something held him back. 

Dr. Payne ran his long fingers along the top of the chair Zayn had just vacated.  “I agree, Mr. Malik.  What’s the rush?” he purred as a self-satisfied smile curled over his lips.  “We could continue the massage.  After all, you did seem to be enjoying yourself.”  His gaze dipped down to the front of Zayn’s trousers, and _oh_.

“Um, I should go.”

“Should you, Mr. Malik?  Should you _really_?”  Dr. Payne edged closer, and Zayn backed away clumsily until his hips collided with the edge of the desk.  He felt cornered.  He _was_ cornered.

“ _Please,_ sir.”

“There’s no need to beg, Mr. Malik,” his principal remarked shamelessly, misinterpreting Zayn’s plea completely.  (More likely, the man was toying with him, like a tiger with its prey.)  Dr. Payne reached out, tucking an errant strand of hair behind Zayn’s ear.  “You see, I am _more_ than willing to give you whatever it is you need.”

And for once, Zayn didn’t need any help reading between the lines.  He understood only too well what his principal was implying.  “I don’t need anything, sir.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Dr. Payne licked his lips slowly, and Zayn found himself mesmerised by the simple action.  His muddled brain wondered what it would feel like to have those full lips pressed against his, if they’d feel soft like the handful of girls he’d kissed in the past or safe like Ed’s.

No, he shouldn’t be thinking that.  This was his _principal,_ and he shouldn’t be thinking that.

“Mr. Malik, I asked you a question.”

“Yes, I’m not…I mean,” Zayn faltered, losing his train of thought.  He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he’d become so transfixed by the lips before him, lips that seemed to glisten invitingly in the twilit room.  He felt dizzy, lightheaded.  His senses were overwhelmed by the closeness of the office, by the closeness of Dr. Payne.  “I…I don’t have any, er, needs.”

“Oh, _everyone_ has needs,” his mentor murmured.  He cupped Zayn’s cheek tenderly, and all at once, Zayn was assailed by the man’s strong, clean scent.  “You’d be wise to stop fighting yours.” 

And before he could reply, Dr. Payne’s mouth crashed into his.

Zayn stood petrified.  His heart thundered in his chest, but that was the only muscle that seemed to function in his entire body.  Dr. Payne’s lips didn’t wait however.  They moved harshly, demandingly against his own as the man kissed him with a fervent, malevolent desire.

For a moment, Zayn felt as if he were suffocating.  He turned his head a few degrees to the side and drank in a gulp of air.  But teeth tugged at his lower lip, coaxing him back towards the illicit, lust-filled kiss.

And then something shifted.

Caught up in the moment, in the rush of adrenaline, in the God-knows-what, Zayn kissed back. His lips parted, allowing the tip of the other man’s tongue to penetrate his already-abused mouth.  Dr. Payne’s hands locked onto Zayn’s hips, his rock-hard body pressing up against the young teacher’s slighter frame.

Zayn pulled him in closer, the thin, cool material of the man’s silk shirt gathering in his fisted hands.  He moaned, this time louder and with a reckless abandon he didn’t recognise.  It shocked him, brought him back to his senses.

Zayn broke the kiss.  Flattening his hands, he pushed back hard against the other man’s chest.  Dr. Payne drew back slowly, his massive hands never vanquishing their tight hold on Zayn’s hips. 

The principal regarded his young teacher with a whimsical fascination.  “I’d wager you’ve never been kissed like that before,” he said with a smugness that made Zayn’s skin crawl.

It was true:  no one had ever kissed Zayn like that.  But whatever _that_ was, it wasn’t a true love’s kiss.  It wasn’t a storybook kiss.  It was guttural and indecent and nothing like how a kiss was supposed to be. 

No, it was something else entirely.

Working at Payne Academy had never been a fairy-tale, but now he felt as if he’d been plummeted into some twisted dark fantasy.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Malik?” Dr. Payne smirked, eyes afire. 

Zayn just stood there for minutes, hours, days.  Time no longer seemed to exist; it went out the window with right and wrong, with proper and improper.  The only thing he was fully conscious of was the way the edge of the desk continued to dig painfully into his backside.

This couldn’t be happening.  This could _not_ be happening.

But it was.

When Dr. Payne’s hold on him slackened, Zayn didn’t waste any time.  He ran from the office like the Devil was chasing him.

And for all Zayn knew, He well might have been.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this one, I'm not going to lie, so please let me know what you think. 
> 
> Also, I apologise for the delay. If you check my tumblr, you might have seen that I've been in and out of hospital for the past month. I'm back on the road to recovery though. xx Also, always feel free to send me asks/messages on tumblr or here.
> 
> Much love! ~Maree xx


	12. Chapter 12

 

Making a swift decision, Zayn veered left as he fled from the office.  When he burst through the front doors of the school, the cold air rushed at him, and he remembered he had left his coat in his classroom.

But that wasn’t all he had left behind. 

He didn’t have his laptop.  He didn’t have his school ID.  He didn’t have his portfolio with the ungraded quizzes.  He didn’t even have his keys.  Zayn didn’t have anything he brought with him that morning, but, at the moment, he couldn't care less.

Racing at full speed towards the nearly deserted staff lot, the heel of his shoe caught on a crack in the pavement.  Zayn hit the ground with a forcefulness that took his breath away, the momentum flinging him several feet forward onto the hard cement.  He lay there for an eternity, shivering in the fast-approaching twilight, wallowing in self-pity.

“Zed, what the…are you okay?!”

As usual, it was Niall.  Niall to the rescue.  Niall when he needed him the most.  And despite their earlier argument, there wasn’t a face in the world Zayn would have preferred to set eyes upon at that moment.

His best friend helped him up, and Zayn silently assessed the damages.  He had a few cuts on each of his forearms that would need bandages, but otherwise, his injuries consisted of normal scrapes and bruises.

“Can you walk?”

Zayn shifted his weight to his left leg and winced.  “Yeah, I think I might have twisted my ankle when I tripped, though.”

“You sure it’s not sprained?”

Zayn tested walking on it.  It hurt, but the pain was definitely bearable.  “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“Good.  Let’s go back in and get you cleaned up, then.  Looks like you forgot your coat anyway.”  Niall placed a hand around Zayn’s waist to guide him back towards the school’s front entrance.

“No!”

Niall blinked.  “But—”

“No,” Zayn said hoarsely, “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Why?  You scundered about tripping or something?”  Niall sighed when Zayn didn’t answer.  “Oi, let me at least get a plaster for you, yeah?” 

“I put a first aid kit in the glove compartment of your car back in August,” Zayn told him, thanking his own foresight.  “I’ll be fine—really,” he insisted.  “I’m just a little banged up, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Niall agreed reluctantly.  “Make sure you put something on those scrapes right away though—your lip as well.  It’s red as a cherry and bruised something fierce; can’t reckon how you managed that.” 

Zayn staggered.  He wanted to crumble to his feet, wanted to blurt out what happened back in the office:  how flagrantly Dr. Payne had disregarded all boundaries between them, how Zayn had lost his senses and _encouraged_ the man, how Zayn had put his whole future into jeopardy in a single—

“Oi, let’s get you home,” Niall urged, and Zayn leaned against him for support as they made their way towards the car park.

Niall’s cherished, beat-up Volkswagen never looked so good.

 

***

 

_He should tell someone._

_He needed to tell someone._

_He had to tell someone._

“Aside from the obvious,” Niall began as they started their commute home, half a tube of triple antibiotic ointment and several Band-Aids later, “how was your day?”  

“Fine.”

“And your mentoring session with Dr. Payne?”

“Fine.”  Zayn squeezed his eyes shut tight, hoping it might erase the repugnant memories from earlier:  the massage, the filthy insinuations, the kiss…

The _kiss._

But it didn’t do any good.  It was still there, every moment of it.  The ignoble sequence played on a loop like some unrelenting Vine.

“Just ‘fine?’  That’s all I get?” Niall protested.  He gently pinched his friend’s cheek, and Zayn swatted his hand away.  “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“I just freaking fell, and I don’t feel like having people touch me, okay?”

“Oh, so I’m ‘people’ now.  Yeah, good to know.  Cheers.”  Niall gripped the steering wheel tighter.  “Is it the Ed thing?” he blurted out at the next light.  “Look, I shouldn’t have accused you of playing him; that was probably out of line.”

Zayn didn’t reply.  He just stared out the window, grateful for every mile that took them closer to home (and farther away from Payne Academy).  He could barely think, let alone remember the latest squabble he had with his best friend.  (They were always squabbling lately, anyway.)

“Guess I was just disappointed,” Niall went on, unsolicited.  “Ed’s become my closest mate—next to you, obviously—and I was sorta hoping everything would work out between you and him.”

_Ed…._

Just the mere mention of the music teacher’s name was like a punch in the gut.  Zayn wondered if Dr. Payne truly was so against inter-faculty relationships or if the ethics clause was merely a convenient excuse, a deceptive ploy meant to veil a much more personal reason for wanting Ed to back off.

_God, how could he be so naïve?_

“Zed, please don’t shut me—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Zayn choked out, wishing he could tuck himself inside the encroaching darkness.  Maybe disappear for a while.

“Yeah…sure.”

“Sorry.  I’m just tired, I guess.”

Niall nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.  “You want to slow down.  These long hours are going to catch up with you sooner or later.”

“A lot of things catch up with you…sooner or later,” Zayn mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey, you positive you’re alright?” Niall asked doubtfully.  “You didn’t, like, bump your head or something, did you?” 

“Like I said, _I’m fine_ ,” Zayn said as emphatically as he could manage.  “I know you’re trying to be helpful or whatever, but please stop asking me, yeah?  I’ll feel better once we’re home.” 

Niall exhaled loudly.  “Whatever you say, mate.”

Once home, Zayn cleaned his wounds (literally and figuratively) while Niall heated up some leftovers.  By the time they sat down to eat, Niall seemed to have bounced back to his normal ebullience.  Zayn wished he had half his friend’s resilience and resolved to push the day’s events to the back of his mind. 

Niall made it easy, prattling on about this and that.  The culinary teacher shared the funnier student mishaps from the past week:  a cheese soufflé that never rose because the oven wasn’t turned on, a chocolate cake without the chocolate, and fairy cakes made with salt, not sugar.  Zayn followed the steady stream of conversation as best he could, even mustering a small smile once.

“It’s about Dr. Payne, isn’t it?” Niall sighed, and the peas on Zayn’s fork tumbled into his mash.

“What…what do you mean?”

Niall rolled his eyes.  “You’re only half-listening to me, so something’s definitely up.  You’re usually pissing yourself when I bring out the kitchen fails.”

Zayn set his fork down and tried to think of a way to change the subject.

“Aha!  So it _has_ got something to do with Dr. Payne, then!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t deny it either,” Niall re-joined before turning serious.  “Oi, he didn’t cut you down or make you feel like a crap teacher, did he?”

“No.”

“Good.  You weren’t put on probation or anything, were you?” Niall speculated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Of course not,” Zayn scoffed.  “Why would I be put on probation?”

“I don’t know…maybe he found out you were gay.”

“So?”

Niall shrugged.  “Well, he wasn’t too bloody thrilled when you started dating Ed, right?  Maybe he’s a homophobic prick or something.”

“Yeah…he’s not a homophobe,” Zayn replied wryly.  “Believe me on this one.”

They went back to eating, and Zayn mistakenly thought he was off the hook until: 

“So what _did_ you discuss at your mentoring session today?”

Zayn wracked his brain, trying to remember what happened before…well, what happened afterwards.  He cleared his throat.  “Um…we talked about stress and how to deal with it.”

“Well, fuck me.  Feel like I should shake that man by the hand for choosing that topic for you.”

“Ni, please don’t swear,” Zayn reproached.  “Clean language, clean mind,” he tacked on mechanically.

“Sorry,” Niall returned even more mechanically before carding a hand through his hair.  “But you really want to loosen up a bit, Zed, just saying.” 

Zayn tensed.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just”—Niall hesitated—“you’re strung so bleedin’ tight, lord help us all when you snap.” 

“I’m done with this conversation,” Zayn huffed before limping off in the direction of his bedroom.  “See you tomorrow.”

“If you’ve still got the hump, don’t bloody count on it.”

Zayn slammed the door.  Taking a deep breath, he rested his back against the door and closed his eyes.  He took a mental inventory of the day’s events:  the technology issues that plagued the school day, his argument with Niall at school, the ‘mentoring’ session with Dr. Payne, the fall outside the building, his argument with Niall at home….

It wasn’t yet eight, but he decided to go straight to bed.  With four hours still left in the day, he wasn’t taking any chances.

 

***

 

(Liam’s POV)

 

To be a great leader, one must admit their mistakes, and Liam had certainly blundered earlier.

With the massage, he had intended to provide his mentee with a pleasurable, stress-free experience.  He wanted Zayn to grow more comfortable with his touch, with his physical presence.  Liam should have been satisfied with that.  He _would_ have been perfectly contented if it weren’t for one thing:

_That damn moan._

It was the sexiest thing Liam had ever heard.  Moreover, it seemed so out of place in his private office.  That one small moan had been the catalyst which ignited his desire.  It surfaced an overwhelming need to show the novice teacher exactly who was ‘boss.’

And so he did.

Now, he was sat in a darkened booth at his favourite nightclub, nursing a vodka martini while deliberating over the best way to pick up the pieces. 

 _Club Jardin_ was a forty-minute drive out of Wisteria Falls, but it was worth it.  It was his escape whenever the idyllic town got a little too stifling.  Here, no one expected anything from him.  Here, no one knew his name, and if they did, they didn’t give a damn.

Liam gave a long, drawn-out sigh.  Clearly, he had misread the signs.  Before the kiss, Liam had been convinced he saw something in Zayn’s eyes—a curiosity or attraction maybe—but it was gone afterwards, replaced by a look of appalling revulsion.  It was ironic, really, because Liam often relied on his ability to read people—like the woman at the bar looking for a chance to skip out on her tab, the businessman who walked out of the house after a fight with his wife (he’d be returning home later, tail between his legs), or the new cocktail waitress who was interested in a lot more from Liam than just a tip.

But when it mattered most, he had made a complete dog’s dinner of it.  Zayn wasn’t ready.  Not yet.

Or perhaps the problem was that Liam had gotten it _right_.  Maybe there _was_ something in Zayn’s eyes.  Maybe he could read Zayn better than the boy could read himself.  After all, Liam had felt that ‘something’ when they kissed:  burning just below the skin, ever-present on Zayn’s lips, awakening in every muffled moan and exhalation.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it had vanished without a trace.

When Zayn ran out, Liam debated if he should chase the boy down.  Ultimately, he concluded that such an action would be utter folly.  Zayn was too shaken up to reason with, and it only would have produced the most undesirable of outcomes.  Liam couldn’t risk creating a scene.

Still, as Liam watched the floor show at _Club Jardin_ , he worried.  He had made his move before explaining all the rules of the game to Zayn, a potentially fatal mistake.  Even so, he doubted whether Zayn would have confided in anyone…except Horan, that is.  Liam would have to keep an eye on him.

“Can I interest you in another drink, sir?” 

Liam set his empty glass down on the table and gave the blonde a once-over.  “That your best offer?”

The comment got the reaction he desired.  She seemed flustered at first but then smiled coyly.  “I don’t usually do this, but…I’m off at eleven.”

“I’ll be waiting.”  Liam smiled, cocksure, oozing with practiced confidence.  It came easy to him, this game.  Second nature.  (It just wasn’t as much fun as it used to be.)

He watched the blonde as she walked away.  She wasn’t Zayn, but she’d do.  She was something to tide him over until he got what he really wanted.

After all, he was a man, and he had needs.

(Needs that weren’t being met at the moment.)

It was going to take a while with Zayn.  Liam had to be proceed carefully.  He couldn’t be reckless, couldn’t make any more misjudgements.  He had to keep his eyes fixed on the prize, and if that meant dialling it back for a while to regain his mentee’s trust, then so be it. 

When it was time to proceed to the next stage, Liam would be ready.  There would be no mistakes.  (He would make sure of that.)  He would show the young teacher that it was in his best interest to comply with his principal’s simple whims.  Zayn would _want_ to comply.

And if he didn’t…well, Liam would worry about that later.

 

***

 

Zayn was sick the next day—sick to his stomach with guilt, disgust, and uncertainty.  He was also extremely sore from his fall.  His ankle hurt.  His muscles felt stiff.  His arms and legs boasted an assortment of bruises in all sizes and shapes, ranging from deep indigo to purplish in colour.  

Zayn told Niall he was staying home, and the other man didn’t seem the least bit surprised.  After Niall left, Zayn went back to bed for the rest of the day.

At around half six, he was awakened by a tantalising aroma wafting into his bedroom.  His stomach growling, he wandered out in his sweats to investigate.

The apartment smelled heavenly, and it was easy to spot the source.  Niall was stood in their small kitchen, gently stirring something simmering on the stove.

“Made a pot homemade chicken noodle soup,” the Irishman informed him.  “Well, it’s really more a good, old-fashioned stew,” he conceded, “like my nan used to make.  Good for the stomach and better for the soul.”

It was obvious Niall had made the stew especially for him, and Zayn was touched by his best friend’s kindness.  Food symbolised love to Niall, and the gesture was not lost on him.  Moreover, Zayn knew the culinary arts teacher must have had a long day, and yet, Niall still made time to cook something special for him.

Niall set his wooden spoon on the stove and turned off the burner.  “If you’re not hungry, I can—”

“Don’t be crazy,” Zayn cut him off.  “Thanks, Ni.  It looks incredible.”

Niall beamed.  “What are you standing about for, then?  Have a seat.”

They ate in silence—a good silence, a _contented_ silence.  The type of silence only the closest of friends can comfortably share.  When they finished, Niall insisted on clearing the dishes, so Zayn grabbed his jacket and pack of cigarettes and headed outside.  He didn’t bother with any shoes—his ankle still hurt like the dickens—but opted for a pair of woolly socks to keep his feet warm.

It’s a nice night—for November anyway,” Niall observed as he stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him.  “Power Rangers—nice,” he teased, gesturing down at Zayn socks.  “Those are new.  Let me guess…your mum, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Zayn chuckled, wiggling the toes of his good foot.  “These are sick, man.”

“I’m not sure if ‘sick’ is the right word for pink ranger slipper socks.”  Niall shook his head and sat down.  “God, I love your mum.”

“I could tell her to send you a pair next time,” Zayn offered, biting back a smile.

“Yeah…think I’ll pass.  Cheers anyway.”

Zayn took another drag of his cigarette, and he could feel Niall’s eyes watching him.

“You really should quit, man.”

“Think you’ve told me that once or twice,” Zayn grunted, but he stamped it out anyway.  He placed the half-smoked cigarette back in the pack.  It hadn’t completely eased the itch beneath his skin, but it had taken the edge off enough for him to notice the orange and cerise hues of the sunset, to remember there was a whole world outside the scope of his problems (even if it didn’t feel like it).

“Spoke with Jo today,” Niall shared at last.

“Really?”

“Yeah, think I got everything sorted.”

“That’s fantastic,” Zayn said, and he meant it, too.  If Jo made Niall happy, then that was all that counted, all that _should_ count.

“Yeah.  She had this mad idea in her head about…well, it doesn’t matter.  It was complete rubbish.”

“I’m glad you two worked everything out.”

“Me, too,” Niall agreed with a heartfelt smile.  “You feeling any better, by the way?”

“I feel like a whole new man after that stew, bro.  Thanks again.”

Niall waved off the compliment.  “Sorry for acting the maggot yesterday.”

“No worries—we both said some pretty stupid things,” Zayn admitted.  “It’s water under the bridge.”

“Well in that case, you can tell me why you were so upset after your mentoring session with Dr. Payne yesterday.”

Zayn froze; he hadn’t been expecting the conversation to veer so quickly into dangerous territory.  “Like I said, it was nothing,” he mumbled.

“C’mon, Zed.  He must have said _something_.”

“Well, yes,” Zayn replied shortly, “he obviously said ‘something,’ Niall.”

“Bugger off, ya wanker.  You know what I was getting at.”     

“It wasn’t anything he _said_ ,” Zayn insisted, “not in particular, anyway.”

Niall kept staring at him expectantly, and Zayn knew he was fighting a losing battle. 

“Fine,” he relented.  “Dr. Payne suggested I look at problems as opportunities for growth, said the best way to reduce stress is to be prepared for anything.”  Zayn pondered the irony of this last statement.  He wondered if ‘anything’ included Dr. Payne kissing him during their mentoring session.  There was no way Zayn could have been prepared for _that._

Even if he _had_ been thinking about it beforehand. 

And maybe, that was what bothered Zayn the most:  the fact that a small part of him _wanted_ Dr. Payne to kiss him.  For some inexplicable reason, he didn’t stop the man, didn’t speak up, even when he could have.

He had been beating himself up about it for the past twenty-four hours.  Even sleep hadn’t offered any reprieve because he dreamt about Dr. Payne, dreamt about…nothing.  He dreamt about absolutely nothing (or that’s what he kept telling himself).

“Quality advice, that,” Niall hummed approvingly.  “Told you Dr. Payne would be an ace mentor, you lucky bastard.”  

Zayn didn’t say a word.

“Hmm…I get it now.” 

Zayn felt his throat constrict.  “Get what?”

“Think I’ve sussed out why you’ve got the hump,” Niall said in his best impression of an analyst.  He squinted as he regarded his friend, head cocked to the side, and Zayn felt as if he were being examined under one of Jensen’s microscopes.  “You’re still convinced Dr. Payne doesn’t like you, that you’ll never be good enough for him and for Payne Academy, aren’t you?”

Zayn made a noncommittal sound.

“Well, _I_ think he doesn’t dislike you as much as you first thought, and one of these days he’s going to make that clear.”

“I think it’s starting to become more than clear,” Zayn mumbled, dark irony staining his words.  Fortunately, Niall didn’t seem to notice.

“Good!  Just focus on what a golden opportunity this is, Zed.  Hell, if I were you, I’d be counting the days to my next mentoring session.”

 _Next mentoring session_.  Those three words made Zayn want to curl up into the foetal position in a corner somewhere. 

He tried to think like Niall would, tried to filter everything through a positive light.  Maybe Dr. Payne would apologise.  Maybe Dr. Payne had a momentary lapse of judgment (like Zayn apparently did).  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.  Maybe…

This was all a bad dream.

“That looks even worse than yesterday,” Niall murmured.  Zayn was confused until he realised his friend’s gaze was focused on his cut lip, the one Zayn was currently pulling at with his thumb and forefinger.  “Does it hurt?”

Zayn dropped his hand into his lap.  “I don’t know…maybe a little.”

“Lemme see, yeah?”  Niall was up in second, sliding a knee between his friend’s legs to get a closer look.  Zayn was a good patient, sitting as still as possible.  “You need to stop messing with it,” Niall scolded, holding Zayn’s chin up to examine the cut under the fading light.  “Doesn’t look infected, but make sure you keep putting salve on it _and don’t smoke_.  The fags will only make it worse, ya eejit.”

Zayn tried to roll his eyes, but Niall was so close it was making him cross-eyed.  “You done yet?  I’ve got a crick in my neck.”

There was a loud banging sound from inside the apartment, like a door slamming.  They both jumped at the noise, Niall practically kneeing him in the groin.

“The fuck was that?” Niall hissed, cautiously peering inside.  There was no movement within, so he cautiously slid the door open and entered the apartment.  Zayn limped after him.

A quick inventory of the place told them there was nothing missing, and more importantly, that no one was there.  The front door, however, was unlocked, and a framed picture on the wall next to it hung askew.

“Someone was here,” Zayn whispered, making the obvious conclusion.  “Did you leave the door open when you got in, Ni?”

“Might’ve,” Niall admitted guiltily.  “I was carrying a bag of groceries, so I kicked the door to shut it.  Not sure if it actually closed all the way or not….”  He shook his head.  “Shit, I’m sorry, Zed.  Some jackeen probably came strolling down the hall and slammed it.”

“Yeah,” Zayn returned, locking the door and bolting it.  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” 

He thought that by saying it aloud, by agreeing the door was slammed by some random jerk, that it would make it true somehow.  But the fact was, Zayn wasn’t convinced by Niall’s explanation.  Since he didn’t have a better theory, however, he resolved to erase the mysterious incident from his mind. 

For now, at least.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start with something personal. Reading all your lovely comments about my writing was just the most uplifting thing. For those of you asking/concerned, I have an autoimmune disorder (similar to lupus). Although I am no stranger to setbacks in my health, they always affect my mood/mental health, so I can't tell you enough how much your understanding and sweet words here and on tumblr helped get me through a rough time. xx
> 
> So onto happier news! I've been incredibly inspired of late, working on some later chapters for TNT (over a 100k written now, woohoo!) as well as a long-ass epilogue for another one of my fics (but which one?). 
> 
> Cheers for now. Best wishes and much love! xx


	13. Chapter 13

 

(Liam’s POV)

When Liam saw there was a substitute assigned to Mr. Malik’s classroom on Thursday, he quietly feared the worst.  He didn’t panic—it wasn’t in his nature to panic—but he remained vigilant despite the fact that he’d had a late night and his alarm rang way too early that morning.  He waited, lingered around the front of the office more than usual, but all the information he could get from Miss Hart was that Zayn ‘wasn’t feeling well.’ 

At 1100 hours, Liam decided to visit Horan’s classroom.  (He needed to do a walk-through anyway, and he was happy to kill two birds with one stone.)  The culinary arts teacher didn’t seem particularly bothered by his appearance, even seemed chuffed when Liam complimented his students at one point, so Liam assumed Zayn hadn’t told him anything… _yet_.

On Friday, Zayn returned to work.  Liam watched from the outer office as Horan ran ahead to the second set of doors at the main entrance, propping a door open so his friend could hobble through.  Liam’s mind briefly went into the gutter as he imagined how Zayn would be walking right after Liam had his way with him.

Or perhaps, he wouldn’t be walking at all. 

The next thing Liam observed after the limp were the dark bruises.  They appeared to meld into the boy’s tattoos on one arm, but the plasters accompanying them were harder to miss.  Liam didn’t get long to look, however, because Zayn noticed his exposed arm and quickly pulled down his sleeve. 

At first, Liam worried the bruises might have been caused by his overzealousness during the massage.  Liam _did_ have a tendency to get carried away at times.  

Fortunately, this was not the case as he discovered later that day.  It was just before he was about to lock himself away in his office for lunch, his only true break in the school day, when he overheard Miss Hart discussing the matter with Jensen.  The chemistry teacher (who heard it from Sheeran who found out from Horan) revealed that Zayn’s injuries were the result of a bad fall in the car park—nothing more, nothing less. 

Liam unpacked his lunch carefully, item-by-item, then opened the feed to the school’s surveillance system on his laptop.  He liked to have the feed on in the background as he ate; he found it incredibly informative in a variety of ways.

Now, with his mind and body at ease, Liam could concentrate on a couple of loose ends.  First, he’d have to meet with Horan and determine if he knew anything at all about what had transpired at the mentoring session on Wednesday.  Also, Liam had a rather large ‘carrot’ to offer the culinary arts teacher—additional funding and resources for his Bistro. 

And why not?  The extracurricular programme had become an excellent addition to the school’s offerings.  It generated great publicity and positive buzz during a time when Payne Academy’s principal was trying to keep everyone’s focus away from the normally highly-celebrated theatre department.  Besides, the extra funding was more an investment than anything else because the Payne Bistro was already starting to turn a small profit.  Lastly, it would keep Horan happy and occupied.

As Liam saw it, it was a win-win situation for all involved.

The other loose end, of course, was Zayn himself.  The question was whether or not Liam should give the teacher more time to ‘process’ the events of two days ago.

As he sat deliberating the matter, Liam spotted Zayn leaving his classroom for his own lunch break.  Liam sat up and zoomed in on the black-and white, grainy camera feed, watching as the history teacher turned around to lock his classroom door.  Liam wished he could get approval to have cameras installed inside classrooms—well, one particular classroom anyway—but the Board was being mule-headed on that issue.  For now, Liam would have to be content with the camera aimed at Zayn’s classroom door.

Liam couldn’t help but admire the view as Zayn turned his backside towards the camera.  For several seconds, the teacher struggled to fit his key into the lock.  Apparently, it was a tight fit, but, of course, those were the best kind.

The _very_ best kind.     

As Liam viewed the real-time footage, Zayn limped a few steps before stopping in the centre of the hallway.  The teacher glanced up at the camera with an unreadable expression, paused, and then took another hesitant step.  Then, pausing again, he stared directly into the camera.  The thought that he might know Liam was watching was strangely gratifying. 

Zayn moved out of view, but Liam’s eyes followed him as he weaved in and out of the different squares until finally disappearing into the teachers’ lounge. 

Liam shut the lid of his laptop.  He had come to a decision:  he’d wait until their next mentoring session to speak with Zayn.  It was best to stick to a routine, best not to rock the boat.

Besides, Zayn wasn’t going anywhere and neither was Liam.

“You can run, but you can’t hide, Mr. Malik.”  Liam chuckled at his own witticism before setting aside the lunch he’d barely touched and returning to his ever-waxing stack of paperwork.

 

***

 

After the staff meeting on Tuesday, Zayn had to suffer through another awkwardly silent drive home with Niall.  Of course, after enduring several such uncomfortable rides, Zayn was more than accustomed to the experience by now.

When they arrived home, Niall still wasn’t talking to him.  Niall was still upset, still frustrated—so much so he nearly took the peg off the wall when he slung his keys on it.  Then, his friend stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him in a very un-Niall-like way.  Zayn’s lower lip trembled, but he held in the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.  Instead, he curled up on the sofa, hugging a pillow to his chest as he reflected on the past few days.

It all started on Saturday when Zayn told a boldfaced lie.  Ed had called and asked if Zayn would come over and proofread something for him.  Ed offered to get pizza—veggie lovers with extra jalapeno—as an incentive, but Zayn declined, saying he had already promised to help Niall shop for a present for his mother’s birthday.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head, and really, Zayn had no idea where it came from.  Maura’s birthday wasn’t until January, and Niall never did anything more than a week in advance (without Zayn prodding him at least).  Zayn could’ve just told the music teacher he didn’t feel well.  Under the circumstances, no one would have blamed him.

It was a stupid lie because Niall found out the next day.  Still, Zayn didn’t expect him to react quite the way he did.  He exploded, zeroing in on the fact that even after their recent heart-to-heart, Zayn continued to act like a jerk to their mutual friend.  Niall wasn’t happy Zayn used his mother as an excuse either.  He kept harping on how “the Zed I know wouldn’t lie, not like that,” and Zayn couldn’t really argue with that.

Then, just when Zayn was convinced things couldn’t get worse between them, Niall accused him of ‘sabotaging’ his relationship with Jo.  Apparently, Jo wasn’t speaking to Niall (again) even though they’d made up less than forty-eight hours ago.  Furthermore, when Niall had asked Jo why she was ignoring him, she responded, “ask Zayn.”

Zayn insisted he hadn’t interfered, that he had no clue what Jo was talking about.  Understandably, Niall didn’t believe him.

On Monday, nothing particularly bad happened.  Then again, nothing particularly good happened either.

On Tuesday, Zayn attempted to make amends with Harry after the staff meeting.  The English teacher led the meeting which focused on better communication among departments.  Foolishly, Zayn had thought this was the perfect time to corner his former mentor.  Zayn now understood how Dr. Payne was, how easily one could feel pressured into making a choice like the (wrong) one Harry had made.  

Unfortunately, Harry managed to dodge him.  Even when Zayn called after him, Harry brushed him off—in his politest manner, of course.  Apparently, the openness Harry had encouraged during his presentation didn’t apply to any communication between the History and English departments (or, at least where Zayn and him were concerned).

In review:  Niall was still mad at him; Harry was still avoiding him; Jo was still giving him the cold shoulder; Ed couldn’t be happy with him; and Louis, along with half the staff, surely blamed him for his forced leave of absence. 

And then there was the situation with Dr. Payne.

Zayn’s thoughts were interrupted when his phone started ringing.  A picture of his mom and him at his college graduation flashed on the screen.  With every ring, his guilt set in a little further, until the call finally went to voicemail.

He’d call her later.  Maybe after he had a smoke.   Maybe then he’d be ready to talk to his family about how great his job was, about how he was smashing this whole adulting thing.

(Then again, maybe not.)

 

***

 

“Honey, we cannot tell you enough how proud we are of you!” his mom gushed later that night.  She’d called three times that day alone, and Zayn couldn’t keep disregarding her calls anymore; it just wasn’t in his blood.  “The last time Niall spoke with your father, he said you’ve managed to catch the eye of Dr. Payne himself!”

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn replied weakly as flashbacks of last week’s mentoring session assailed him.  “Yeah, that’s, uh, one way you could put it.”

“And your father was right, dear,” she prattled on.  “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

“Underestimated me?”

She exhaled dramatically, the star of her own personal soap opera.  “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to step out on your own so soon because we—because _I’ve_ —sheltered you so much.”  She sniffed loudly then, and Zayn _really_ hoped she wasn’t going to start crying because there was a good chance he’d join her.  “I’m happy to say I was wrong.”

“Oh,” Zayn returned blandly, reaching over to set his alarm.  He didn’t want to be late for judgment day tomorrow.  “Um…thanks, mom.”

They talked for another ten minutes or so…well, his mom talked, and he listened.  When the conversation started to wind down, Zayn felt a sense of relief.  It was tiring pretending everything was great when it really wasn’t.

“Give our love to our Niall!” she chirped, as she always did.

“Yeah, will do.”  Zayn figured there was little point in telling her that Niall and him weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the present moment.  It would probably freak her out as much as it did him.

“I love you, honey, and please stay in touch more, alright?” she gently scolded.  “Your father says I need to give you your space, and I’ve been trying to, but I worry when it takes a couple of days for you to return my calls.  At least text or send out a Tweeter thing so I know you’re alive.”

“Yes, mom.  I will.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.  Oh, and Zayn?”

“Yes, mom?”

“I just wanted to tell you one last time how proud we are of you,” she shared, starting to get all choked up again. “We’re proud beyond words.” 

“Thanks, mom.  Love you…bye,” Zayn managed before quickly ending the call and collapsing back on his bed.  It really sucked lying to his mom, but he didn’t know what else to do.  He was having the crappiest week possible, and it was about to get much worse.

Because tomorrow was Wednesday.

 

***

 

Zayn could tell there was something off about Dr. Payne the moment he walked into the man’s office for their regularly scheduled Wednesday mentoring session.  His principal seemed bothered about something, distracted.  Then again, it was probably expected under the circumstances. 

Zayn himself was a nervous wreck.  Time had not brought clarity, and Dr. Payne’s distance this past week had only made facing the music now that much worse.  If anything, last week’s mentoring session had become more opaque, more inscrutable the harder he’d thought about it, details blurred by self-recriminations and resentment towards his boss for even putting him in such a situation in the first place.  Zayn had gone so far as to draft a resignation letter a few days ago before ripping it up.  He couldn’t give up on his dream, not yet.  Not until he’d heard what Dr. Payne had to say.

“You may have a seat, Mr. Malik.  I promise I won’t bite.”

Zayn contemplated the invitation.  He was apprehensive about straying too far from his escape route.  Besides, Dr. Payne _had_ bitten him last week.  Zayn’s bottom lip still showed the proof of that a week on.

“Mr. Malik, _please_.”  With an impatient flourish, Dr. Payne indicated Zayn’s usual chair before stationing himself at the window a few feet away.  The blinds were open for once, and it made the room appear slightly less ominous.

Zayn took a seat.

Dr. Payne didn’t speak for a long while, just peered out onto the well-manicured front garden, his countenance reflected in the window pane—first contemplative, then brooding, then contemplative again.  Zayn followed his principal’s gaze.  He marvelled at how there was barely a leaf in sight even though leaves had littered the grass and pathways at the beginning of the week.  Zayn remembered trudging through the orangey-russet quagmire with Niall only yesterday morning.  He recalled the crunch and crackle of leaves underfoot, the damp, pungent organic smell. 

(He also remembered a _just_ -controllable urge of his to gather up a bunch and launch it at his friend.  It’s something he would have done back when they weren’t teachers, back when they didn’t have to worry about things like dirtying their work clothes, back when they weren’t expected to act like adults.

Back, too, when they got along, when they weren’t constantly at each other’s throats or—even worse—not talking.)

But now the leaves were gone.  Every last one.

Zayn wondered if they had all been collected by the groundskeeper, but it seemed like a tall job for one person in such a short span of time.  On the other hand, perhaps the wind had simply blown them away. 

Perhaps, she knew better than to ‘junk up’ the grounds of Payne Academy.

Dr. Payne turned towards him, and Zayn could tell the principal had resolved himself to…something.  “How’s your ankle?” he inquired.

Zayn tried to mask his surprise at the unexpected question.  “Much better, sir.” 

“And the rest of your injuries?  I’d heard you had a bad fall.”

“Just bumps and bruises—mostly anyways,” Zayn told him.  “But I’m feeling much better.  Thank you for asking.”

Dr. Payne nodded.  “Well then.  I thought it would be a good idea to use this session as an opportunity to clear the air, as it were.”  Dr. Payne cleared his throat.  “Therefore, I would like to begin by apologising for what occurred last week.” 

This was exactly what Zayn had been yearning to hear, yet the quick, straight-to-the-point apology still caught him off guard.  “Really?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, and I sincerely hope we can both be professional enough to move past it,” Dr. Payne declared with a cold, solemn intensity.  “Furthermore, I would hope that the incident—like anything that transpires within these walls—is something we can keep between the two of us.” 

Dr. Payne pivoted to face the window again, one hand toying coquettishly with the tilt wand.  He twisted it one way, and the blinds closed.  The room went dark.  He twisted the wand the other way, and the blinds reopened, letting the afternoon light in again.  “You haven’t spoken with anyone about our last session…have you, Mr. Malik?”

Zayn felt apprehension setting in again.  The room began to grow stuffy as the events of last week’s session rushed back at him.

He licked his lips.  “I…um….”

“Well, Mr. Malik?” Dr. Payne pressed, gripping onto the wand so tight that Zayn worried it might break off its chain.  Zayn couldn’t see his principal’s face, not entirely, but the man’s voice belied a strained eagerness which contrasted sharply with his formerly calm and cool demeanour.

“No,” Zayn answered honestly, “I haven’t said anything about…about….”

He hadn’t finished his sentence, but apparently, he didn’t need to.  His mentor’s grip suddenly slackened on the tilt wand, and Zayn could just see the corner of the man’s lips curl up. 

“Ah, I knew you were a gentleman of good-breeding and discretion.  Yet again, you have proven me correct.” 

“Th-thank you, sir.” 

Dr. Payne faced him square-on.  “As I’ve mentioned before, my hope is that you’ll view me as a mentor, a sort of father figure,” he stated with his precise, carefully-crafted diction.  “I believe I have a great deal of knowledge and experience to offer you, Mr. Malik, and you have much to offer your students.  I think it would be a travesty to allow a silly misunderstanding to get in the way of that, don’t you?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Zayn agreed, nodding vigorously.  If Dr. Payne was willing to forget the kiss ever happened, then he was more than on board with that. 

“We _are_ human after all—aren’t we, Mr. Malik?”

“Yes, sir.  Very human, sir.”

“And things…happen.  Do they not?”

“They do, sir.”

“And sometimes it is necessary to overlook these, er, _slipups_ —for the greater good, of course.”

“Of course, sir.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Payne crooned.  “I am glad we are of the same mind, for I am quite certain our relationship could be mutually beneficial in _countless_ ways.”  He strolled towards his desk, spun his chair around the right way, and settled into it with an air of satisfaction.  “Thank you, Mr. Malik.  That is all.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Zayn stood up to go, but then stopped.  He wanted to ask a question, but he wasn’t sure if he should, if he’d somehow be trespassing where he shouldn’t be.

“ _Yes_ , Mr. Malik?”

“Next week,” Zayn started timidly, “we, uh, won’t be doing anything with stress relief again, will we?”

Amusement glittered in the administrator’s eyes.  “No, I believe we covered that in depth at our last session.”  He rubbed the palms of his hands together briskly.  “No, I have something else entirely planned for next Wednesday.”

Zayn breathed a sigh of relief and debated if he should follow-up with the next logical question.  As usual, his curiosity got the best of him.  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what _is_ the topic for next week’s session?” 

“Discipline,” was the instant response.  “Next week’s focus will be on discipline, and I think it will be a most productive session— _most_ productive, Mr. Malik.”  Dr. Payne turned his attention to the papers on his desk then, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

As Zayn exited the office, all he could think about was how he _really_ wished he hadn’t asked that question.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rushing to post this before class, so I'll keep this short and sweet.  
> Thanks for all the amazing feedback once again. You guys are the best. I'm a little behind on replying to comments, but I'll get to them soon, I promise. xx
> 
> Also, my fic Money Moves has been updated with an epilogue if you haven't seen it yet! Check it out, maybe? :) xx


	14. Chapter 14

 

(Jo’s POV)

A notification popped up on her screen, and Jo groaned.  She really hated when Dr. Payne sent her messages that way.  Half the frickin’ time, it froze her computer, totally interrupting whatever she had been working on.  When that happened, she could almost count on Dr. Payne getting pissy with her because she hadn’t finished her duties “in a timely manner.” 

There might be a worse boss than hers in the state, but if there was, she’d bet her dad’s farm in Iowa that Dr. Payne would come in a very close second. 

It was a good thing she loved her job.  She loved working in a school office, loved that every day was something new.  She loved the teachers, staff, and students she worked with.  (She could tolerate the parents and stodgy board members most of the time.)  But the thing she loved best about her job at Payne Academy was simply being in the centre of a very unique ecosystem.  As the principal’s secretary, she saw everything that went on in the school, and a selective private secondary school like Payne Academy had all sorts of interesting goings-on. 

The message from Dr. Payne was still blinking on her computer screen, demanding her immediate attention, so she reluctantly clicked on it: 

 

> _Message from the principal:  Dear Miss Hart, please don’t bother me for the rest of the afternoon._

 

Before responding, Jo rolled her eyes in a completely juvenile way (something she particularly excelled at).  To Jo, the rest of the afternoon consisted of exactly twenty-three minutes. 

 

> _Would you like me to re-direct your calls to the answering machine on the main line when I leave, sir?_
> 
> _Message from the Principal:  Yes. I need to meet with Mr. Malik in my capacity as his provisional mentor.  Unfortunately, our new teacher requires a great deal of support._

 

Jo snorted, thinking that yeah, Zayn probably needed all the help he could get.  She’d heard he was supposed to be some boy wonder before he got to Payne, graduating top of his class and winning a crap-ton of awards.  But after three months of school, she still didn’t see what all the damn hype was about. 

Of course, Jo had never seen the guy teach, but he didn’t seem like the master teacher type.  For starters, he was nothing like Harry.  Most of the time, Zayn came across as shy and awkward, especially when his best friend wasn’t glued to his side. 

Dr. Payne apparently wasn’t a fan either.  From the beginning of the school year, he’d been complaining about the new teacher’s “woeful punctuality,” among other things.  And now, Dr. Payne was forced to act as Zayn’s mentor because of the fight Zayn had gotten into with Harry, of all people.  The principal respected his star English teacher far too much to officially assign another mentor, so now he was stuck with the unsavoury task of mentoring Zayn himself. 

She _almost_ felt sorry for him.

Jo shook her head at her own rudeness.  No matter how she felt about Zayn personally, there was no reason to attack him as a teacher.  He had to have _some_ potential or Dr. Payne wouldn’t have hired him in the first place.  Because even if Dr. Payne was kind of a ginormous asshat at times, he clearly knew what he was doing when it came to running a school.

With one eye on the clock, Jo returned to the student profile she had been updating.  She’d barely brought it up, however, when the main line started ringing.  With a sigh, she lifted the phone to her ear:

“Thank you for calling Payne Academy.  This is Joanna Hart, principal’s secretary, speaking.”

“Is it safe?” the caller whispered back, stalker-like.

Jo blinked at the strange question.  “Who is this?” she demanded.  She was about to hang up when the person on the other end of the line laughed gaily—a laugh she sorely missed.  “Oh my gosh, Lou!  Is that you?!”

“Yeah, ‘course it is, love,” he chuckled back, “and I can’t believe you’ve bloody forgotten me already.”

“Oh, please, Lou.  We miss you terribly,” she insisted.  “This place isn’t the same without you.”  It was true, too.  Louis Tomlinson was one of her favourite teachers on the staff.  He was always so full of energy, always had a smile on his face and an amusing story to tell when Dr. Payne wasn’t around.

“Of course Payne’s not the same bloody place without me,” Louis replied puckishly, “but cheers much for stating the obvious and all that.” 

Jo giggled.  “Of course.”

“So is the _dic_ tator—note the emphasis on _dick_ there—around?”

“Lou!”

“Well, is he?”

“Wait—you’re not saying you want to speak to him, are you?” Jo gasped.

“Don’t be mad,” Louis scoffed.  “I was just wondering if you could talk freely or not.”

“I mean…I guess,” Jo replied, glancing towards Dr. Payne’s closed door out of nervous habit more than anything else.  Dr. Payne had had his office soundproofed a few years back, claiming the constant “chitter-chatter” in the office was distracting him from doing his job.  “I’m still at work obviously.”

“Yeah, I should probably get your mobile number before we ring off here.”

“I’ve given it to you three times,” Jo admonished lightly.  “Gonna have to give it to El next time.”

“Probably a good idea,” Louis admitted with a laugh that lacked its usual shine.

“So, how is El?  I haven’t spoken to her in ages.”

“El?  She’s great—bit sick of me though,” Louis replied with forced cheerfulness.  “Swears she’s going to break off our engagement if I don’t get my shit together.  You know—the usual.”

“I’m sure it’s just because....”

“I’m at the flat all the time now?” Louis chimed in, and Jo nodded, forgetting she was on the phone.  She checked around the office to make sure she was still alone and that Dr. Payne’s door was still shut tight.  (It was.)  “Yeah,” Louis continued, “I’m bouncing off the fucking walls at this point, trying to think about something other than the shambolic state of my theatre department.”

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Jo lied, trying to forget how Louis’ substitute asked her just yesterday if she knew what ‘stage left’ meant.  “Harry’s been helping out as much as he can.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” Louis grumbled.  “That’s my job…or it was anyway.”  The drama teacher sighed.  “El thinks I should go grovelling on my knees to the Big Payne and ask him for me job back.”

“Well, it probably couldn’t hurt—”

“Bollocks.  Can you imagine how bloody intolerable my job would be if I gave in that easy?”  He let the question hang in the air for a moment.  “But I need to find out what’s going on—that’s why I called, yeah?  I was hoping you could shed some light on the subject.  Just give it to me straight, love:  what are my odds of returning next term?”

“Well,” Jo started carefully, “he hasn’t forgiven you, if that’s what you mean.  Also, I know the substitute was told this job would be a long-term assignment which could end up lasting a whole semester or…even longer.”

“Yeah, that’s what kind of I figured,” he replied, deflated.  Jo understood.  It had been tough for her to say those words and probably even tougher for him to hear them.  “But enough about me, how’s everything going in the world of Jo Hart?”

Jo took a deep breath.  “Lou, you were right,” she said miserably.

“’Course I was, love, but give me details.”

Jo triple-checked that Dr. Payne’s door was closed before elaborating.  “Niall,” she blubbered, trying to hold it together.  “He’s a total player, and I should have listened to you when you told me to steer clear of him.”

“Hate to say I told you so, but….”

“I know,” she conceded, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose before propping her elbow on her desk and resting her cheek in her palm.  The thing that was hardest to swallow about the whole mess was that she should have known better.  Yes, she was young but not young enough to use ‘youth,’ ‘inexperience,’ or ‘naivety’ as an excuse.  She’d left Iowa five years ago, and she’d seen a lot since then.  This wasn’t her first time around the block, yet she had let herself be bamboozled by an easy manner and an infectious laugh. 

She really needed to start dating older men.  Maybe that was the whole damn problem.

“Don’t let it get you down, darling,” Louis declared, breaking into her thoughts.  “It happens to the best of us.”

“I know.  It’s just that I completely misjudged…well, both of them, I guess.”

Louis snorted.  “Yeah, Styles told me Horan and Malik were practically getting off in the lounge a few weeks back.” 

“Harry said that?”

“Well not in those exact words, mind you, but you know it was blatant as fuck if Harold noticed it.”

“Yeah,” Jo replied glumly.  She felt like a total dumbass.  She had to be the only person in the whole school who didn’t realise those two were more than friends.  “Lou, I didn’t want to believe all the rumours at first.  I even asked Niall about it, and he said I was being ridiculous, but then….”  Jo took a deep breath.  She wasn’t going to cry.  She was twenty-frickin’-five, and she wasn’t going to cry at work over a _boy_.  “Then, I...I saw them.”

“What’d you see, love?”

Maybe Jo was mistaken, but he almost sounded angry.  It shouldn’t have consoled her, but it did somehow.  “Well first, I saw them sitting together on the main staircase.  The monitors are shitty in here, but they were sitting super close, Lou.  Niall had his arm wrapped around Zayn, and it was just plain weird.”

“Go on.”

“Then, I saw them at their apartment.  I’d gone over to apologise to Niall—can you imagine?” she disparaged, shaking her head at her own stupidity.  “I was actually going to apologise to that jerk.”  She took a shuddering breath.  “So I knocked but no one answered.  I saw the lights were on and the door wasn’t closed all the way, and well, I just pushed it open.”

“And?”

Jo swallowed the lump in her throat.  “I found them on the balcony, Lou, and…and I really wish I hadn’t.  Let’s just leave it at that.”

“I warned you not to trust either one of them, Jo,” Louis said darkly.  “They both need to learn their fucking place.  I sussed out Horan from the start, but I’ll admit Malik took a little longer.  Should’ve trusted my instincts because, bloody hell, no one could be _that_ naïve.”

“Zayn is,” Jo insisted, but then she thought about the balcony, what she saw….

What she wished she _hadn’t_ seen.

“He’s a master manipulator is what he is,” Louis declared.  “Just look what he did to Harry…and you…and that Sheeran kid…and me, for fuck’s sakes.”

“Lou, that’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?” Jo challenged, wondering why the hell she was defending Zayn when he had been fooling around with her boyfriend behind her back.  “In all fairness, we don’t know what happened with that mentoring debacle.  Harry said it was confidential and that he wasn’t going to tell anyone the details—not even you.”

Louis made a noise.  “Maybe, but I know what happened in my case and Malik was definitely to blame for that.”

Jo seriously needed to get her head checked because once again, she found herself coming to the defence of Zayn Malik.  “You slandered him in front of a packed auditorium, Lou.  I don’t see how that’s his fault.”

“It’s only slander if it ain’t true, darling,” Louis drawled.  “Besides, it was just a subtle dig.  People took it completely out of proportion.”

To be fair, Jo hadn’t been in the theatre that night.  However, knowing Louis as she did, ‘subtle’ would be the very last word she’d ever associate with the drama teacher or any of his actions.

“What I don’t get,” Louis continued, “is why our dear old Payno was so cheesed off about it.  I figured I’d get a warning or a slap on the back of the hand.  Maybe even an extra hall duty…summat like that, y’know?”

“Well, what did he say?”

“He said, and I quote”—Louis cleared his throat and Jo guessed his infamous impersonation of Dr. Payne was about to make an appearance—“Slandering one Payne teacher in a public forum is tantamount to slandering the whole school, Mr. Tomlinson.’”

Jo sucked in a breath.  “What did _you_ say?”

“Told him to stuff it.”

Jo nearly dropped the phone.  “No way,” she hissed. 

“I did actually.  It was my greatest and worst moment all wrapped into one,” he sighed wistfully.  “But enough about me.  I know you’re probably trying to get out of there, but just tell me one thing: how’re you holding up, love?”

“I’m doing okay, Lou,” Jo answered, feeling anything but.  She knew she’d get over Niall someday, but that day wasn’t today.  “I just keep thinking of him…of them,” she admitted.  “Niall was all over his supposed ‘best mate,’ and I’ve made myself sick wondering what the hell Zayn’s got that I haven’t.”

_Cheekbones, better eyelashes, an Uncle Dick…._

“MISS HART!”

Jo _did_ drop the receiver this time, and it went clanging to the floor, nearly pulling the base of the phone down with it.  She said a small prayer, then swivelled around to face her boss.  “Yes, sir?”

Dr. Payne wasn’t happy with her but that wasn’t exactly breaking news.  “Do you know what makes _me_ sick, Miss Hart?” he asked coolly. 

“My inferior work ethic?’” she offered after a beat, attempting to look more contrite than caught.

“Precisely,” he said gruffly.  “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”  (To give him credit, he _had_ said it himself.  Many many times.)  “Miss Hart, it’s evident you’ve been frittering away what could have been a productive afternoon on a personal call.  Last I checked, the Board isn’t paying you to make personal phone calls.”

“I understand that, sir.  It won’t happen again.”  As she spoke, she could feel her dignity drop a few notches.  She knew she was technically in the wrong on this one.  She should’ve called Louis back after work.  Still, she didn’t see why he had to be an asswipe about it, why he couldn’t simply reprimand her and move on. 

“Apologies aren’t enough,” her principal said sharply.  “I expect you to stay fifteen minutes later today to make up for the wasted time.  Oh, and please remember to clock out at the correct time, so I don’t have to adjust your time sheet…again.”

“Yes, sir,” she parroted back, resisting the urge to add a mocking salute.  She watched as he marched back into his office, door left open for his next appointment.

That’s when Jo recalled exactly who his next appointment was:  Zayn.  Just the person Jo wanted to see right now… _not_.  She thought again about what Louis had said regarding Zayn.  Perhaps, he was right.  Perhaps—

_Crap._

She’d never hung up the damn phone.  She quickly dropped to the floor to grab it, but when she held the receiver to her ear, all she heard was the dull buzz of the dial tone.  Groaning, she placed the receiver back on the cradle.  The moment she looked up again, Zayn was standing in front of her.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, then motioned towards Dr. Payne’s open door.  Zayn paused briefly as if he wanted to say something, but she pretended to be absorbed in reorganising her desk caddy.  She wasn’t in the mood to listen to whatever it was he had to say.

No, it still hurt too damn much.

 

***

 

“Tell me, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne began as soon as Zayn was seated, “how important is your job to you?” 

To say Dr. Payne’s question surprised Zayn would have been the understatement of the century.  It threw him off balance, made him worry—not that it took much to make Zayn worry.  As Niall liked to say, if ‘worrying’ were an Olympic sport, Zayn would hold the gold medal record.  He wondered if that was Dr. Payne’s intention, to make him worry, as the man’s piercing brown eyes studied him. 

Zayn squirmed a little in his seat.  “I, uh, thought we were going to be discussing discipline, sir.”

“In good time, Mr. Malik.  Answer the question first,” Dr. Payne instructed before reclining back in his leather-padded desk chair.  “But before you do, I’m going to ask you to think about it carefully.  How important is your job to you?” he repeated.  “Your answer is more important than you know.”

Zayn definitely felt like he was being tested now.  “It’s…it’s everything to me.  Teaching is my whole life; it’s all I ever wanted to do,” he acknowledged.   “There’s nothing like standing in front of a classroom and delivering a solid lesson.  I don’t know how to describe it,” he confessed, searching for the right words.  “It’s…it’s a feeling like nothing else.”

Dr. Payne was staring at the ceiling, fingertips pressed together in that strange way of his.  Zayn watched as the corners of his lips twitched enigmatically.  After what seemed like an eternity, he sat up abruptly.  “Yes, I thought as much,” he said decisively. 

“Sir, I’m not sure what you—”

“Yes,” Dr. Payne said almost to himself, “your idealism is quite refreshing, but that answer is probably more self-aware than I would have suspected.”

“Sir, I—”

“That feeling you get as you stand before your class,” Dr. Payne cut in, “do you know what it is?”

Zayn blinked.  It was hard following Dr. Payne’s quick shifts and jumps in conversation sometimes.  “Um…no.  I don’t think so.”

“It’s power, Mr. Malik,” his mentor stated.  “Teaching is empowering.  It is a nearly unparalleled high if one does it correctly and to the best of his or her ability.  In actuality, there are very few things which surpass that feeling.”

Zayn wasn’t sure if he agreed with Dr. Payne’s explanation.  He was sceptical that power was the root cause of the feeling he described.  Teaching should generate positive feelings and thoughts, and Dr. Payne made it sound like Zayn was a power-hungry, attention-seeking junkie.

Dr. Payne must have noted his negative body language because he qualified his assertion: “I assure you, Mr. Malik, that there is nothing arbitrarily wrong with seeking power.  Indeed, there is a time to seek authority and a time to bow to others’ authority.  Different circumstances and arrangements call for different approaches.  Do you understand?”

“I-I think so, Dr. Payne,” Zayn answered unsurely.  He still had some doubts, but as usual, he had a difficult time expressing them to his principal.

“You don’t, but you will soon,” Dr. Payne returned, his usual cryptic response to such questions.  “But let me remind you once again of the question I posed at the start of our session—you _do_ recall my question, of course?”

“Yes, you asked me how important my profession—”

“No, that is not entirely correct, Mr. Malik,” he snapped, clearly irritated.  “You have substituted the word ‘profession’ for the word ‘job.’  I had a very specific reason for employing the latter word.”

“But aren’t the two words interchangeable?” Zayn asked, frustration setting in.  He wondered why his mentor was so caught up with semantics when they were supposed to be discussing discipline.

“In this case, they are _not_ transposable,” Dr. Payne bluntly informed him.  “In order to illustrate the difference, I will be more specific and restate the question:  How important is your job _at Payne Academy_ to you?”

Zayn’s heart sank.  “Oh, I see what you mean, sir,” he acknowledged.  “The difference is quite, er, obvious now.”

“Then answer the question, Mr. Malik.”

Before Zayn could utter a single syllable, Dr. Payne had catapulted himself up off his chair.  He paced the small office with staccato, turbulent strides.  Then, the principal stopped suddenly and shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets.  He began to speak, and the words flowed out of him in an almost stream-of-conscious sort of way:

“I want you to think about your job here at Payne Academy.  I want you to reflect on the prestige that comes with such a placement, Mr. Malik.  I want you to consider the doors a successful teaching stint here will open for you in the future.  I want you to consider the pride that undoubtedly swells your chest whenever you tell someone you’re a Payne teacher.” 

Dr. Payne paused to catch his breath, and Zayn took the opportunity to collect his thoughts.  He figured he might as well be open and honest at this point because the only plausible reason Zayn could think of for Dr. Payne’s question was that the man was considering firing or suspending him.

And Zayn could _not_ let that happen—not if there was any conceivable way he could prevent it.

A suspension or termination of a first-year teaching contract was the kiss of death to a career in education.  And maybe Louis was right about him to an extent because Zayn _did_ have ambition—he just wasn’t ruthless.

Zayn took a deep breath and forced himself to look up at Dr. Payne.  “My job…at Payne Academy…also means everything to me.”

Dr. Payne smiled—well, as close to a smile as he would allow himself.  “You have no idea how much it delights me to hear you say that, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn felt as if he’d just dodged a bullet.  “Thank you, sir.”

Dr. Payne grabbed a file and a pen from his desk, then took a seat next to Zayn at the small octagon table.  “Oh, before I forget,” he announced abruptly, “you _must_ tell me how pleased Mr. Horan was with the news I shared with him.”

Zayn swallowed.  He had no idea what his principal was talking about.  “Uh…news, sir?”

“Yes, news,” was the clipped, impatient response.  “I am referring, of course, to the additional funding for Mr. Horan’s student-run bistro.  Mr. Horan seemed quite pleased about it when he left my office last week,” Dr. Payne disclosed, furrowing his brow.  “I’m surprised he didn’t mention anything.  You two are flatmates, aren’t you?”

Zayn frowned.  “Yes, but we haven’t been…well, what I’m trying to say is—”

“It’s fine, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne quieted him.  “These little disagreements will happen between good friends, won’t they?”  He cleared his throat.  “Not to presume, of course, but you two would call yourselves ‘friends,’ wouldn’t you?” 

It was a weird question, but the way Dr. Payne was staring at him without blinking was even weirder. 

“Yes,” Zayn answered, “and I’m sure he’ll tell me about the good news when we’re, uh….”

“Speaking again?”

Zayn blushed.  “Um, yeah.”

“I see,” Dr. Payne returned, looking pleased again for some bizarre reason.  “But we have lost enough time.  Let’s move on to today’s focus which, as you recalled, is discipline.”

_How could Zayn forget?_

“Discipline,” Dr. Payne boomed as if he were delivering a lecture to a full classroom, “is a necessary component of power relationships and hinges on trust— _trust_ , Mr. Malik,” he emphasised, clicking his pen to punctuate the point.  “Simply stated, there needs to be an expectation that rules are to be obeyed and that if they are not obeyed, consequences will ensue.

“In addition,” Dr. Payne continued, “a pupil—or other _subordinate_ , shall we say—should feel safe in the relationship.  He should understand that the rules and punishments exist _for his own good_.  Furthermore, the subordinate should know that even though he may not fully understand a directive, respecting the orders of his”—Dr. Payne hesitated—“superior is his best and only course of action.” 

Dr. Payne folded his hands together on the table in front of him and peered deep into Zayn’s eyes.  “Well, Mr. Malik—do you agree with my general philosophy?  Do you think it is one that could guide you here at Payne Academy?”

Zayn tried to strip away the clinical coldness from his principal’s message.  Overall, he agreed with the man—or at least, he thought he did.  “Yes, sir.”

“Good.  I would like us to try an exercise then.” 

“An exercise?”

“Yes,” Dr. Payne said genially, twirling his pen in one hand as he began to speak in his soothing monotone.  The pen wove through his fingers like a crimson ribbon:  in-and-out, out-and-in; a crimson blur that Zayn found both distracting and mesmerising. 

“Mr. Malik?”

Zayn shook his head and re-focused; it had been another long day.  “Sorry, what were you saying, sir?”

Dr. Payne gave a tolerant, drawn-out sigh.  He set the pen down—thankfully—and folded his hands together again.  “I asked if you would address me by another name when we are in our private sessions,” his mentor related.  “This name, of course, would have to be something outside the norm, just to demonstrate the importance of minding the rules no matter how nonsensical they seem.  If you forget and/or refuse to address me in the proper fashion during our sessions, a consequence would follow, albeit a rather trifling one.”  Dr. Payne seemed to reconsider his words.  “Well, to begin with, at any rate,” he tacked on.

Something about all of this was making Zayn uneasy.  Still, he couldn’t see the harm in complying with a silly exercise like the one his principal just outlined.  “Sir, how would you like me to address you for this exercise?”

“First, you must agree to the terms.”  Dr. Payne must have been able to read the lingering reservations in Zayn’s eyes because he added, “Remember, discipline is ultimately about trust, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn bit his lip.  There was no way he could refuse now.  “Alright, sir.  I…I agree.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Payne murmured, crossing one leg over the other as he relaxed back into his chair.  “Now, time to think of a name….”  He pursed his lips and scratched his clean-shaven jaw.  “Let’s try…Daddy.”

Zayn blinked.  He must have misheard the man.  “I’m sorry—could you repeat that, sir?”

“Daddy,” Dr. Payne confirmed, straight-faced.  “I would like you to call me ‘Daddy’ for the purposes of this exercise, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn was at a loss for words.  “ _Daddy?_ ” he repeated, dumbstruck.

“Yes, Mr. Malik.  I think it will be a good reminder for you that I am here not only as your administrator but also as your mentor.  As I’ve told you innumerable times, this latter role can be a fatherly one.”

“But—”

“That is enough, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne cut him off, eyes flashing with annoyance.  “I will expect you to follow this simple directive at our next meeting, as agreed, and if you do not, there _will_ be consequences.  Do I make myself clear?”

Zayn nodded resignedly.  When he left the office soon after, he couldn’t help but wonder what in the world he had unknowingly gotten himself into.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I'm dying to read what you thought about Jo's perspective. That was just a one-off because I like breaking the rules and doing the unexpected, but hopefully it explained some things about the way certain characters have been acting and gave you more insight into Jo's character.
> 
> Also, what did you think about the 'Discipline' mentoring session? Any thoughts about Dr. Payne's strange line of questioning at the beginning? Anyone catch why he brought up Niall (hint: check Jo's section if you missed it)? And of course, what did you think about Dr. Payne's little exercise? ;)
> 
> Finally, I've had a few people asking about updates. I have a rough update schedule for myself, so I'll share it with you. These are my goals but keep in mind that life happens. Also note that if a chapter is ready, I might post it earlier in the week, so your best bet is to subscribe to the fic (or to mmaree) if you want to read it right away. :)
> 
> Saturday, 13.10: Money Moves (Epilogue, Part 3)  
> Saturday, 20.10: The New Teacher (Chapter 15)  
> Saturday, 27.10: Money Moves (Epilogue, Final)  
> Saturday, 3.11: The New Teacher (Chapter 16)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Much love! ~Maree xx


	15. Chapter 15

 

Zayn glanced over at Niall on their ride home from school.  His friend appeared tired, and Zayn figured the long hours of teaching and sponsoring an after-school club were finally taking their toll.  Zayn understood that tiredness, felt it in his bones.  Niall had the Bistro, but Zayn was still spending far too many hours grading and planning the perfect lesson.

In teacher’s college, they had been warned that the first year of teaching was always the worst, that if you could make it through the first year alive and in one piece, it would be smooth sailing from there.  Zayn sure hoped that advice was true.  Some days, that thought was the only thing that motivated him to keep going.

Like today, for instance.  He had always suspected that Dr. Payne was a bit eccentric, but the Daddy exercise was just strange…and well, _cringey._

“How was your meeting with Dr. Payne?” Niall asked suddenly, and Zayn was thankful he was buckled in; otherwise, he might have hit the windscreen out of pure shock. 

“Fine,” Zayn answered quickly before Niall remembered that they weren’t really talking to each other.  “It went well.”  He didn’t elaborate.  He remembered what Dr. Payne had said about keeping the sessions confidential.  Besides, he didn’t think Niall would understand the discipline exercise.  (Zayn didn’t quite understand it himself.) 

“That’s good.”

Zayn thought of the news his mentor had mentioned.  “Oh, Dr. Payne told me he found some extra funding for the Bistro.  That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, it’s brilliant,” Niall concurred, sounding almost like his usual carefree self again.  “It’s really gonna be a massive help.” 

“I can imagine,” Zayn replied.  “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask…what did Dr. Payne say about your second quarter lesson plan?”

Niall snorted.  “Well, I got in trouble for using the ‘f-word’ so there’s that.”

Zayn tried not to let his expression reveal just how appalled he was.  “Wait—you used profanity on a lesson plan you turned in to Dr. Payne?”

Niall lowered the volume on the radio.  “No, I got chewed out for using ‘fun’ in my objective.  As Dr. Payne said”—Niall traded in his Irish brogue for Dr. Payne’s West Midlands accent—“‘There is no place for “fun” in a lesson plan, Mr. Horan.  Please change the “f-word” to something more appropriate and resubmit.’”

“I should’ve guessed,” Zayn chuckled.  “So what did you do?”

“Changed ‘fun’ to ‘engaging,’ then re-sent it.”

“That’s vintage Dr. Payne right there,” Zayn mused, shaking his head.

“Yeah…,” Niall agreed, waxing introspective all of a sudden.  “Zed,” he began as they waited at a red light, “be straight with me because I’m willing to forgive a lot of gobshite if you are.  I get that it’s been stressful with everything that’s been going on, but did you or did you not try to sabotage my relationship?”

Zayn wanted to pull his hair out because he had already denied this before.  “No, Niall.  I promise I’m telling you the truth.  I didn’t do anything—knowingly anyway.”

Niall nodded thoughtfully, eyes back on the road as the light changed from red to green.  “I believe you,” he said simply.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.  It was a spark of hope Zayn could cling to in a time when he needed it.

 

***

 

It was midway through Wednesday’s mentoring session, and Zayn was finishing a reflection sheet on the past week’s lessons.  The session had been blissfully uneventful thus far, mostly because Dr. Payne kept getting phone calls he had to take.  Zayn tried not to eavesdrop, but from the snippets of conversations he did overhear, the trouble had something to do with Payne Academy’s drama department.

“Mr. Styles,” Dr. Payne spoke into the phone, and Zayn was definitely listening in at this point, “I don’t know what else to tell you.  I understand rehearsals aren’t going well—I’ve been hearing nothing else from parents and students for days.”

Dr. Payne glanced in Zayn’s direction then, and the new teacher pretended to be writing something down.

“I am well aware that Payne has a reputation in the arts to uphold; however, the Board assures me they will have a list of qualified applicants soon.  Once I get that list, I will do my best to swiftly interview and select a suitable replacement who can steer the ship back on course.”  There was a few second’s pause before Dr. Payne snapped, “yes, _replacement_.”  Then, he promptly slammed the phone down.

Dr. Payne shut his eyes and started massaging his temples.  The principal had not yet turned thirty, yet he looked like he was feeling every one of his years today (and then some).  The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders.

Zayn was too afraid to speak up, but he didn’t know how much longer he could pretend to be working on a double-sided reflection page either.  “I’m…uh…finished.”

“Remember the exercise, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne barked, looking up.

“Sorry, sir…I mean, um, Father,” Zayn stammered. 

Dr. Payne gave him a withering look.  “ _Daddy_ ,” he corrected, loosening his smart, grey and salmon-striped tie which coordinated perfectly with his white shirt and ash-coloured suit.  For once, the principal wasn’t dressed in all dark attire, and it made Zayn feel a little less intimidated—well, if it weren’t for the fact that the man’s recent phone calls had clearly left him in a bad mood.

“I’m sorry, sir, but isn’t ‘Father’ close enough?” Zayn tried.  He felt strange calling his boss ‘Daddy,’ especially when he never even used the moniker with his own father.

“Mr. Malik, that wasn’t the directive.”

“I mean, they’re synonyms,” Zayn tried again.  “So, I don’t actually see the difference…?”

“Really, Mr. Malik,” his principal disparaged, “you must learn the significance of specificity and exactitude in your word choice.  I believe we have discussed this on numerous occasions.”

Zayn wondered if he should say it, wondered if it would be rude or inappropriate to bring it up in this setting. 

“Spit it out, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne sighed.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” Zayn finally settled on.

“Good.”

Zayn’s eyes widened at his mentor’s dismissive response.

“Don’t look so affronted, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne tutted.  “Remember, ‘uncomfortable’ is where learning takes place.  You probably felt ‘uncomfortable’ when your parents took the training wheels off your bicycle; however, embracing that discomfort was a necessary step in the learning process.  One must embrace the unknown _and_ the uncomfortable in life.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

Zayn was pretty sure his principal wasn’t completely grasping his objection.  Then again, If Dr. Payne didn’t think it was weird for his mentee to call him ‘Daddy’, then Zayn certainly wasn’t going to make it weird.  “Yes, sir—I mean, uh, Daddy.”

The corners of Dr. Payne’s mouth turned up.  “Very good, Mr. Malik.  And as I was saying, please remember the importance of exactitude in your word choice.”

“I will,” Zayn promised.  “I’ll try to be mindful of what come out of my mouth in the future.”

“Yes,” his mentor approved, brown eyes almost glowing in the lamplight, “one should always be aware of what goes in and out of one’s mouth.”

“Oh,” Zayn chirped up, “I hardly ever have to worry about what goes _in_ my mouth.  Niall takes care of that.”

Dr. Payne started coughing violently then.  After a bit, he took a long swig from his silver and red _‘I love Payne’_ tumbler.  Then, he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.  “Would you care to, er, expound upon your last statement, Mr. Malik?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Zayn replied, marvelling at how much easier this Daddy thing became with more practice.  “Mr. Horan prepares most of our meals.  He always makes sure I’m eating well, getting decent nutrition, and all that good stuff.”  Zayn felt a tinge of embarrassment after sharing that information with his boss.  Then again, Niall _was_ the culinary arts teacher; it should come as no surprise that the Irishman did the majority of the cooking and meal planning at home.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Payne responded, looking well relieved.  “I’m pleased to know that Mr. Horan is so attentive to your needs, Mr. Malik,” he stated, his upper lip twitching for some reason.  “Even so, I will try to show a greater interest in what goes in your mouth next term.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble you on something that has nothing to do with school,” Zayn objected hurriedly because the last thing he needed was Dr. Payne involved in his personal life.

“Nonsense,” Dr. Payne dismissed with a wave of his hand.  “I feel it is part of my duties as your mentor, Mr. Malik.”

“No, really, sir…er, Daddy,” he sputtered, quickly fixing his error.  “Niall—I mean, Mr. Horan—does a more than adequate job of it.”

“I’m sure he does,” Dr. Payne granted.  “On the other hand, sometimes ‘adequate’ isn’t enough, Mr. Malik.  Adequate grades won’t get our students scholarship opportunities or admission to top schools.  Adequate test scores do not convince donors to fill our school’s coffers.  No,” he said adamantly, slapping his desk once for emphasis, “‘adequate’ will not do.  We need to ensure that you are _fully_ satiated on a daily basis.”

There wasn’t much Zayn could say to that.  “Yes, Daddy,” he murmured back, hoping Dr. Payne would forget the whole conversation by the time next term rolled around.

Dr. Payne leaned forward in his desk chair.  “And now, I believe it is quite clear that you have earned a reward,” he announced to his mentee’s complete and utter astonishment.

“A reward?”

“Yes, Mr. Malik.  You have done very well on our little exercise in discipline.”

Zayn cleared his throat.  “Does this, uh, mean I can refrain from calling you ‘Daddy’?” he asked, endeavouring to keep the unbridled enthusiasm he felt…well, bridled.

“No, you may continue using that particular title with me,” the other man stated as if that were a reward in itself.  “Indeed, I would highly encourage you to do so.  You may, however, also address me as ‘sir,’ as you would outside of my office.”  Dr. Payne laced his fingers together.  “Now, as for your reward, Mr. Malik, you are welcome to request anything you want…within reason, of course.”

Zayn could hardly believe his ears.  The offer seemed too good to be true.  He thought for a while, then asked, “Could I teach that collaborative class next semester?  The course proposal was submitted well before the required deadline, but I haven’t heard anything back on it yet.  I know how extremely busy you are, sir, so maybe you didn’t get a chance to—”

“The history of popular music one with Mr. Sheeran?” Dr. Payne interjected.

“Yes—that’s the one!” Zayn exclaimed, happily surprised that Dr. Payne even knew what he was talking about.

“No.”

Zayn frowned.  “Would you be willing to—”

“No,” Dr. Payne repeated, jaw set.  Zayn figured it wasn’t worth pursuing the matter further; more pleading would only serve to infuriate the man.   

And so he thought for a while longer, stealing a glance in his principal’s direction from time to time.  Dr. Payne waited patiently, fixedly studying him while tapping his fingertips together.

Suddenly, it dawned on him: there was a way Zayn could make everything better.  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it earlier.  He cleared his throat, and Dr. Payne stared back at him expectantly.

“Sir, could you maybe consider giving Mr. Tomlinson his job back?” 

Dr. Payne wore an unreadable expression on his ruggedly striking features.  “Why?” he asked finally, voice reeking with displeasure.

“Because…because I think Mr. Tomlinson didn’t really mean what he said about me—if that was why he was suspended—and I-I think it was all just a misunderstanding.”  Zayn didn’t add in how half the school more or less blamed him for Louis’ suspension.  Even a number of students held a grudge, and it was becoming almost intolerable—especially when Zayn didn’t really have anyone to talk to about it. 

He was feeling isolated, stigmatized, and his hope was that Louis’ return might be the panacea to all his troubles.  (Well, he hoped it could be a start, anyhow.)

“Of course that wasn’t your fault, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne cajoled, clucking his tongue.  “Mr. Tomlinson was the one who brought the ‘leave’ upon himself by slandering another Payne teacher.  I won’t tolerate such complete disregard for the school and its teachers—its best and brightest teachers, may I add.”

Zayn could feel himself blush.  “Thank you, sir—er, Daddy.”

“Thank _you_ for your dedicated work, Mr. Malik.”

“A while ago you told me you valued my opinion,” Zayn began before he lost his nerve, “and my opinion is that you clearly showed your disapproval for Mr. Tomlinson’s actions by placing him on suspen—forced leave.  And again, I assure you that I am in no way questioning your decision.”  Zayn spoke this last sentence rapidly before the other man could object.  “But couldn’t you find it in your heart to at least think about giving Mr. Tomlinson his job back?”

“This has nothing to do with ‘heart,’ Mr. Malik.”

“Well, then could you do it for the good of the school?” Zayn urged.

“I will deliberate on the matter, but let me stress that _if_ I make such a decision it will be because I have already reflected upon the matter myself,” Dr. Payne cautioned as he rose from his desk.  He removed his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair almost lovingly.  “That being said, I value your input, especially since you were indirectly involved in the incident which led to the disciplinary action.”  His mocha eyes seemed to soften for a fleeting moment, but then the sensitive emotion quickly vanished.  It reminded Zayn of watching hardening chocolate.

“I’ve forgiven Mr. Tomlinson,” Zayn shared, and he had…for the most part.    

Dr. Payne soured suddenly.  “I’m not convinced Mr. Tomlinson has earned the forgiveness you so willingly bestow upon him, but we shall see….”  He glanced at the wall clock.  “That is all for today, Mr. Malik.  You can leave your reflection in my inbox there; I’ll review it later.”

Zayn did as he was told.  As he turned to leave, he was surprised to see his principal standing directly in his path. 

“This probably goes without saying,” Dr. Payne said in a low, hypnotic tone, “but just to ensure we’re both on the same page….”  His principal took a step closer.  Indeed, the man was so close, Zayn could feel the heat radiating off his body as he leaned in to whisper in Zayn’s ear.  “Everything we’ve discussed today, everything that occurs within these walls is strictly between you and me.”

“Yes, of course,” Zayn breathed.

It was then Zayn felt it—the dark, almost palpable energy hanging in the air between them.  It burned, exhausting his oxygen supply, leaving him lightheaded…

Leaving him wanting more, whatever _more_ was.

Dr. Payne straightened up, something unreadable in his eyes again.  Then, without a word, he strolled past his mentee and towards the window.  When he spoke again, his tone was brusque, business-like, detached:

“Thank you, Mr. Malik.  That is all for today.”

Zayn recovered his senses and exited the principal’s office, shutting the door behind him.  It was only then that he felt he could breathe again (that he felt like _himself_ again).  His sessions with Dr. Payne often left him emotionally and mentally drained, and this time was no different. 

He was just about to leave the main office and head back upstairs to his classroom when—

“Zayn, before you go—”

Zayn nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Jo’s voice.  Normally, the principal’s secretary was long gone by the time his mentoring sessions with Dr. Payne ended.  “Oh…uh…hi, Jo.”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m still here,” she began a little hesitantly, and yes, that was precisely what Zayn was wondering.  (That along with why she was talking to him in the first place.)  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologised.  “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine.  Guess I’m just extra jittery today.”

“Too much coffee?” the comely secretary inquired.  Her tone and manner were pleasant, and Zayn let his guard down a little.

“Probably,” he admitted with a self-deprecating smile.  “Harry told me I’d be mainlining black coffee before winter break, and he was bang on.”  It was then he remembered himself, remembered he probably shouldn’t be dropping his former mentor’s name around in casual conversation.  It made things…awkward.

Jo nodded.  “I had to make up some time,” she explained in answer to Zayn’s unasked question.  “Then I stayed a bit after that because…well, because I was hoping to catch you before you left today.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I was hoping we could talk actually.”

“Sure…,” Zayn said carefully.  “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Actually, I thought it might be better if we went somewhere else.”  She gave a sidelong glance at Dr. Payne’s closed door, then shifted her gaze to the wall of monitors on the other side of the office.  “I was going to invite you for a coffee, but maybe you’re all caffeine’d out?”

“No, sounds good.  I can always get unleaded,” he quipped.  He’d been astonished that she was even speaking to him, so this turn of events was simply mind-boggling.  It wasn’t long ago when his own invitation for coffee was shot down summarily.  “When were you thinking?”

“Now?  Today?” she suggested hopefully.  “Unless you’re busy, of course.  I can drive; I know you carpool with…with Niall,” she said softly.

“Actually, today would be great,” Zayn answered.  “I’ll just text Niall, grab my bag, and then we can leave.”

“Awesome!” she replied with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

Not five minutes later, they left the school.  As Zayn followed Jo to her car, he half-questioned his hasty decision to accept her invitation.

Then again, it probably wasn’t the worst decision he’d made that afternoon.  Not by a longshot.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this seemed like a good spot to end the chapter.  It’s a little short, I know, but it’s also a little early so yay.
> 
> Thanks for the brilliant feedback again.  Your reactions to the Daddy exercise were a blast to read, but I’m especially loving the full gamut of emotions when it comes to Jo.  Some of you are sympathetic, some think she’s being manipulated, and some want to tell her to piss right off.  Amazing.
> 
> I’m writing the end of Money Moves (weep), but I’ll do my best to get the next chapter of TNT out to you guys on schedule.  Fun fact: I always write endings first, so the very end is already written. :) Much love! ~Maree xx


	16. Chapter 16

# Chapter 16

 

 

“I don’t mean to sound like a jerk,” Zayn began, “but why did you, uh...?”

“—Invite you here?” Jo supplied helpfully. 

“Um, well…yeah,” Zayn admitted, blushing.  He didn’t want to come off as rude, but Jo’s request—to have coffee with him—was curious enough.  He didn’t want to try to keep guessing at her intentions now that they were at a corner table at Espresso Expresso. 

He looked around: some of the afterschool crowd still lingered, but this definitely wasn’t a peak time.  Indeed, the coffee shop was quiet enough to where Zayn could hear the chatter of the baristas, the periodic grinding of coffee beans, and Frank Sinatra’s velvety baritone singing “Come Fly with Me.”  It would almost be relaxing if he weren’t so anxious about why Joanna Hart asked him there.

“I might as well just come out and say it,” she said softly.  Her eyes seemed to be following the sinuous grains of wood on the table, flickering everywhere except on Zayn.  He had prepared for the worst, expecting some level of hostility or cattiness, but the secretary appeared apprehensive and vulnerable, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think.  “It’s…about Niall.” 

Zayn hadn’t really expected her to be so blunt.  “What about Niall?” he asked guardedly, knowing this conversation could turn ugly at any moment.  He scanned the coffee shop, double-checking there weren’t any students or teachers nearby.

“Well, I talked everything over with a…a friend the other day,” she said, and Zayn couldn’t help but wonder who this ‘friend’ was and if it was someone he knew.  “And I was just thinking that, well, maybe there’s a chance that things aren’t exactly as they appear to be, you know?  That there’s a chance I may have jumped to conclusions, I guess.”

“Jumped to conclusions about what?”

Jo looked embarrassed.  “I maybe sort of walked in your guys’ apartment the other day—the door was open,” she quickly clarified.  “I knocked first, but no one answered.”

Zayn could hardly believe his ears.  He’d been coming up with all kinds of wild, paranoid explanations, and it had been Jo all along.  “You were the mysterious door slammer the other day,” Zayn mused, and then suddenly, everything clicked.  “You thought Niall and I were, uh, making out on the balcony, didn’t you?” he asked, and Jo didn’t answer, but the insecurity in her eyes revealed the truth.  “Yeah well, I can clear that up in about ten seconds,” Zayn grunted.  “Niall was examining my lip because I had, er, cut it when I fell the other day.” 

And yes, half of that story was a lie, but the half that mattered wasn’t, and that was the important thing.

At least that was what Zayn told himself.

Jo looked so relieved she might cry.  “Your lip?” she repeated before her eyes lit up.  “Of course!  You were out on Thursday and when you came back you were all bruised up, and…oh my God, I’m such a dumbass,” she moaned.  “Harry was sooo right.”  She gasped suddenly, slapping a hand over her mouth as her eyes went wide.  “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you I spoke with him about this.”

Zayn was slightly surprised that Jo was close enough to Harry to confide such intimate details to him, but to be honest, he wasn’t really sure what he thought about the revelation.  (He wasn’t really sure about much lately.)  “So was that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Well…,” Jo started, looking uncomfortable, “I was hoping you could, you know, tell me how you feel about Niall.  He’s assured me several times that there’s nothing going on between you, but before I try to work it out with him—if he even _wants_ to work things out,” she added with a frown.  “Well, basically what I’m trying to say is that I need to be sure you don’t feel something more towards him, Zayn.”

“We’re just friends, Jo.”

Jo didn’t seem convinced—or more accurately, she looked like she was _trying_ to believe him but something was stopping her. 

Zayn sighed, figured it was best to be completely candid.  “Look, I don’t mean to sound cutting to Niall because he _is_ my best friend, but”—Zayn hesitated a moment—“I don’t find Niall attractive in the slightest.  He’s like a brother to me, always has been.”

“How can you not think he’s attractive?” Jo snipped. “ _Everyone_ thinks Niall is attractive, Zayn.”

“No, I just mean he’s not, like, my type.”

“Why?”

Zayn felt flustered, caught in a catch 22.  “Well, he’s kind of boyish, isn’t he?”

“I like his boyishness,” she said a little indignantly.  “I think it’s absolutely charming.”

“Maybe I’ll try this another way…,” Zayn said, measuring his words carefully as he stared down at his hands.  “I look at Niall and see the boy who teased the crap out of me when we were in elementary school,” he shared.  “I see the boy who shaved off one of my eyebrows for a laugh; the boy who put a lizard in my bed after I put a frog in his; the boy who beat up the first and last kid who tried to bully me; the boy who couldn’t solve the most basic of mathematical equations to save his life—unless they had something to do with cooking.”  Zayn took a deep breath and continued, “I look at Niall now, and I see the boy who nags me worse than my mother ever did and the person I go to when I need a reality check.  That’s how _I_ see him, Jo, and if that’s inappropriate in any way, then I’m sorry.”

After he finished his speech, he braved a glance in Jo’s direction, and there was understanding in the secretary’s eyes. 

“He sounds like your brother.”

“Already told you that,” Zayn chuckled ironically.

“Yeah, I think I get it now,” Jo acknowledged, shame-faced.  “You didn’t owe me an explanation after the shitty way I acted and all, but I really appreciate that you gave me one anyway.”  She smiled a smile softened with regret.  “You’re…a really good person, Zayn.  A lot better than people give you credit for.  I’m sorry for being such a jerk.”

“No problem.  I’m just glad everything’s cleared up.”

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed, picking up her neglected drink.  “ _Joe_ ” was scribbled on the cup, making it a perfect match for the _“Zane”_ scrawled on his.  “Crap, I just hope Niall can forgive me for being such a prize-winning idiot.”  Jo shook her head, then gazed across the table at Zayn with humility in her blue eyes.  “I can’t believe I listened to those shitty rumours about you.  I’m sorry, Zayn; I really am.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn returned, managing a small smile.  It was nice to have someone on his side for once even though the reminder that the staff gossiped about him didn’t exactly make him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

They grew quiet, the burning topic of conversation having run its course.  Zayn sipped his mocha, waiting for Jo to talk about the weather, or school, or plans for winter break.  Maybe, she’d ask if he was ready to leave.

“Tell me,” she stated, peering at him as if this were the first time they had met, “what do you look for in a man?”

Zayn almost spit out his drink.  “Excuse me?”

“Come on,” she teased, “you’re way too gorgeous to be single, Zayn.”

Zayn felt like there should have been a coda added to the end of that statement.  ‘ _You’re way too gorgeous to be single **and living with my boyfriend** ’ _was probably closer to what she really meant.

He cleared his throat.  “I’m, uh, not looking to be in a relationship right now.”

“Theoretically then,” she said, changing gears but looking at him just as intently as she had been before.  “What do you look for in a guy—you _do_ like guys, right?”

“Yes….”

“Well then?”

Zayn thought for a beat.  “Invisibility,” he answered, and Jo snorted.

“So what about Ed Sheeran?” she prodded.  “I know you guys hung around a lot first quarter.  Any spark there or was it just rumours?” 

Zayn felt a gentle tug at his heartstrings.  He was so confused about his feelings for the music teacher.  Ed had sweet, kind eyes, and Zayn liked him, he did.  But Zayn was beginning to wonder if he _liked_ him liked him.

Then again, maybe Zayn just liked the idea of someone like Ed—someone safe, someone sweet, someone he could take home to his parents.  Ed reminded him of Niall in many ways—boyish, funny, and charming—but Zayn wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  It was comfortable.  It was _safe._   In short, he needed more time with Ed, one-on-one, to decipher his feelings and determine whether they could be something more to each other than just friends and co-workers. 

It was funny because Zayn had been so certain that Ed was what he wanted at first, but now he wasn’t so sure.  Everything seemed to get more mixed-up with every passing day, too.  All Zayn knew was that he felt…unfulfilled somehow.  Still, he didn’t think it was wise to jump right into a relationship right now—especially an off-limits relationship with another teacher.

“So, do you like him or not?” she pressed.

Zayn bit his lip.  He wanted to be friends with Jo, but he was also wary of her position as principal’s secretary and her reputation as a bit of a gossip.  “Um, I like him as a friend.”

Jo rolled her eyes dramatically.  “Beyond that, silly.”

Zayn studied his companion; she looked like she meant well.  On the other hand, he’d never been the best judge of character.  He thought about Ed, about how whatever information he told her might get back to him.  If Zayn emphatically denied liking Ed, then that might damage any future chances he had with the music teacher.  (And who knew what could happen a year from now?)

“Beyond that,” Zayn told her, “I honestly don’t know.”

Jo hummed at his vague response.  “Alright, let’s try this a different way: describe your perfect man.”

“Seriously?”

She buttoned the top button of her yellow cardigan, then folded her arms across her chest and leaned back.  “Yes.  Shoot.”

“But I don’t know what my ‘perfect man’ would be like,” Zayn whinged.  “Well, besides someone my parents liked, of course….”

Jo twisted her face.  “That was a lousy answer, Zayn.  No wonder you’ve struck out so much.”

“Thanks.”

Jo didn’t let Zayn’s lack of enthusiasm deter her one bit though.  “Try to think of the qualities you’re attracted to,” she suggested.

“I haven’t got a clue, Jo.”

“Give it a go; you might surprise yourself,” she encouraged although Zayn _highly_ doubted that. 

“Alright,” he said reluctantly.  “I guess I’d prefer someone who’s intelligent, that you could, like, have interesting and in-depth conversations with.” 

“Booorrring.”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughed.  “Intelligence is important.”

“Yeah, yeah.  And physically?”

“Physical attraction is superficial, don’t you think?”

Jo shot up in her chair.  “Please don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ people,” she sighed.  “Chemistry is _everything,_ Zayn.  If you don’t feel attracted to the other person, then what’s the point?”

“Isn’t that a little primitive?”

Jo tilted her head and pursed her lips.  “Okay, let’s try this a different way.  When you say you’re gay, do you mean you want to be in a romantic relationship with a guy, want to bang a guy, or both?”

Zayn could feel his cheeks heat up; he knew he must be beet red.  “ _Jo._ ”

“What?  Just trying to narrow down your preferences, so I hook you up with a good match.”

“You and Niall were made for each other,” Zayn murmured before taking a long swig of his lukewarm mocha, half to hide his embarrassment and half to keep his hands occupied.  “Fine,” he relented when Jo just kept staring at him.  “I guess I’d be interested in both…of the things you said.  The romance…and the other thing.”  Zayn coughed.  “Eventually, I mean.”

Jo blinked.  “Wow, you really are a virgin, aren’t you?” she asked in awe.  “Have you even thought about doing the down-and-dirty before?”

“Can we talk about something else?” Zayn begged.  He couldn’t believe the conversation had ended up in the gutter so quickly.  He was absolutely dying inside because the fact was he _had_ fantasised about _that_ before—or dreamt about it anyway.  He had dreamt about having sex in an inappropriate setting in an inappropriate position with a VERY inappropriate person.

(A VERY VERY inappropriate person.)

“Just a few more questions,” Jo stated like she was doing a survey.  “Okay, what about age?”

“I guess I’d prefer to date someone who’s, like, mature.”

“You’re 22, right?” she inquired and Zayn nodded.  Jo scrutinised him closely.  “You’ve a good head on your shoulders and a set career path, and you need someone else with similar qualities and values, _et cetera et cetera_.  Correct?”

“Yes,” Zayn replied, impressed.  “You’ve basically nailed it, yeah.”

“Fantastic.  So you’re looking for a sexy, intelligent older man then.”

“Ugh,” Zayn grimaced, “you make it sound so…ugh.” 

She giggled at that.  “Good news!  I’ve figured out your perfect match.”

“Who?” Zayn asked doubtfully.

“Harry.”

Zayn paled.  “Oh gosh, don’t even joke about that!” he moaned.  Zayn hated to say it, but a small part of him did think the English Teacher was a good catch—from a purely theoretical standpoint.  Zayn wasn’t head-over-heels for Harry or anything though.  He just highly respected him and thought he wasn’t, well, _un_ attractive.  Zayn also knew Harry was engaged, and so he would never act on those feelings, however small they were.

Besides, there was the small fact that Harry hated his guts.

“Don’t worry, I know he’s off the market,” she remarked before he could start listing his objections.  “I’m just trying to get a rough idea of the type of guy you’re into, hon.”

“I told you,” Zayn reiterated, “the invisible, non-existent kind.”

“Actually, you told me you like the Harry Styles-kind,” she corrected smarmily.

“Well, considering Harry loathes me, I’m not sure if that’s a good reference for you.”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  “Harry doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes, he does.”

“I know for a fact he doesn’t hate you, Zayn, because he told me so himself,” she revealed with a dramatic flair that would have made Louis Tomlinson envious.  “Since I basically let the cat out of the bag earlier, I might as well admit I asked him for advice about Niall…and well, you.”  She smiled sadly, tracing the lid of her cup with a careless finger.  “Harry’s just a great listener, isn’t he?  So I found myself pouring my heart out to him, and he told me that although appearances looked one way, I was a fool if I didn’t talk to you and get your side of the story.  He says you’re not as—well, _you_ know—as some people claim you are,” she finished uncomfortably.    

It was a relief to know Harry didn’t totally despise him.  In truth, it had taken a while for Zayn to let go of his own resentment towards the English teacher after the “spying” incident, but now he understood a lot more than he had in the past.  Above all, Zayn now understood Dr. Payne’s silver tongue and his powers of persuasion.

Harry probably thought he was doing the right thing by keeping a watchful eye on Zayn.  If the situations were reversed, Zayn wasn’t convinced that he wouldn’t have done the same exact thing.

All of a sudden, Jo’s phone lit up and began drilling against the café table like a sledgehammer.  It propelled itself almost to the edge before she caught it and checked the screen.

“Oh my god!” she shrieked.  “It’s Niall!”

“Well, answer it then,” Zayn prompted lightly, relieved it wasn’t an actual emergency.  Jo blinked at him as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her before picking up the call.

“Hello?” she asked tentatively.  Seconds later, she was apologising profusely to Niall, explaining she’d just had coffee and a “lesson in humility” from his “roommate and best friend.”

Zayn got out his own phone and answered a couple of questions from students on the latest assignment.  Although he forced himself to tune out Jo’s conversation, he could tell by the tone and the endless cooing that all misunderstandings were forgiven and soon-to-be forgotten between the two lovebirds.

Maybe things were _finally_ beginning to turn around.

Zayn watched Jo as she blushed, eyes lighting up at something Niall had said.  He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy—not because he liked Niall or Jo in that way—but because a small part of him wished he had what they had.  Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t date Ed since both of them were teachers.  Niall dating Jo still seemed innately unfair, but he wasn’t going to be the one to rain on his best friend’s parade.  On the contrary, he wished both of them (and especially Niall) the best.

Zayn’s thoughts meandered back to the music teacher.  Zayn had been grossly unfair to Ed if he were honest with himself.  Niall had been right about that (and several other things).  In fact, Zayn’s treatment of Ed had done real damage to two friendships.

And now, he was going to make things right.

Before he could lose his nerve, Zayn texted a simple greeting to the music teacher.  To his surprise, Ed texted back almost immediately:

> _Ed:  Zayn!!! You alright :D_
> 
> _Me:  Yes, just wanted to say sorry_
> 
> _Ed:  For what???_
> 
> _Me:  Being a crappy friend_
> 
> _Ed:  Just your imagination_
> 
> _Me:  No, it’s not. Lmk if there’s a way I can make it up to you._
> 
> _Ed:  You texting me just made up for everything :)_
> 
> _Me:  No, I’m serious. It would make me feel better._
> 
> _Ed:  I’ll keep that in mind :) Cheers mate_

 

Zayn looked up from his screen, and the first thing he noticed was the happiness in Jo’s eyes as she chatted away with Niall.  She paused briefly to glance across the table at Zayn, then beamed him her most heartfelt, grateful smile.

And in that moment, Zayn felt certain everything was going to work out just fine.

 

***

 

> _Ed:  Remember how you said you owed me one…_
> 
> _Me:  Yes! What do you need?_
> 
> _Ed:  I’m doing this application for a music grant and was hoping you could proofread it and give me some suggestions_
> 
> _Me:  Count me in :)_
> 
> _Ed:  Brilliant!!! Tomorrow after school?_
> 
> _Me:  My classroom or yours?_
> 
> _Ed:  Yours. Mine’s a bit of a mess ha. You need a ride after?_
> 
> _Me:  Don’t think so. Niall has the bistro tomorrow so that should give us plenty of time. x_

 

***

 

(Liam’s POV)

Forty-five minutes.  It was enough to do his head in.

_What the devil could they be doing in there for so bloody long?_

Liam paced around his office, eyes darting back to the live feed on his laptop every thirty seconds even though there wasn’t a damned thing to see but a closed classroom door.  He cursed the Board for not permitting him to install cameras in the classrooms.  (Well, in _one_ particular classroom at least.)  He cursed his leniency towards Zayn, cursed himself for hiring Sheeran in the first place.  Truth be told, Liam never much liked the music teacher. 

As he always said, if it wasn’t one thing, it was Ed Sheeran.

Then again, Liam hadn’t expected Zayn to defy one of his directives in quite so flagrant a manner either.  Liam cringed again, thinking of the warm way in which Zayn had greeted the ginger before letting him into his classroom and shutting the door behind them.

It was becoming more and more apparent that Zayn was seeing Sheeran again, and now, Liam would have to do something about it.

It was a shame because things had been progressing so nicely.  After a couple of hiccups—namely, his uncharacteristic loss of self-control and Miss Hart’s unfounded suspicions regarding Zayn and Horan—Liam had managed to get things back on course.  He was hopeful that with a little ‘gentle’ persuading, Zayn would eventually come around to his way of thinking.

Liam was used to people following his orders with few exceptions—especially new, probationary teachers.  The principal had informed Zayn in no uncertain terms that romantic alliances between faculty members at Payne was strictly prohibited.  He had even gone so far as to mention Sheeran by name.  But today, Zayn had blatantly disregarded those orders (and in Liam’s own bloody school, to boot).

And needless to say, Liam wasn’t pleased.

Evidently, it was time Liam reminded Zayn who was boss.  It was time Liam made his intentions crystal clear.  It was time for the kid gloves to come off.  It was time to introduce more… _overt_ tactics. 

Liam had waited long enough; the time for caution had passed.

Well…almost.

Unfortunately, final exams and winter break were fast approaching, and it would be unwise to push the young teacher too far before then.  Liam figured it was best to let Zayn recharge among family and friends, then introduce the next phase at the very first mentoring session after school resumed in January. 

Liam could stick it out a few weeks longer…probably. 

He glanced at the camera feed again and made a quick calculation: Sheeran had been in the history teacher’s classroom for precisely 55 minutes and counting now.  Whether he wanted to or not, Liam would have to address the Sheeran matter with Zayn again (and as soon as bloody possible).

There was no fucking way he could let _that_ slide until after break.

In the meantime, Liam had a school to run, and it was time to get back to work.  After taking a brief moment to ‘reset,’ he glanced down at the yellow post-it on his desk and carefully dialled the number he had had scribbled on it earlier.  While he waited, he let out his remaining aggression on the paper, crushing it into a ball with one hand before pitching it into the closest bin.

“Hullo?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tomlinson,” Liam greeted his former drama teacher casually.  He relaxed back into his chair, but his eyes remained transfixed on the unchanged image on his laptop screen.  “I would like to set up an appointment to meet with you in my office at your earliest convenience….”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Happy Halloween! 
> 
> So, I've had to work several extra shifts at work, and I'm not sure when I'll be able to get the final chapter of Money Moves out if you're waiting on that. (I should have a better idea in a couple of days, and I'll post an update on tumblr.) I decided to finish this chapter instead since it was almost done and I'm so brain dead this week. Hopefully, you enjoyed the early update.
> 
> By the way, next chapter begins our descent into hell. Buckle your seatbelts, lovelies. ;) xx


	17. Chapter 17

# Chapter 17

 

 

“No fecking way,” Niall stated adamantly.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Jo griped back.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

Zayn wished he were wearing earbuds to cancel out some of the noise coming from the direction of the sofa.  The couple had been ‘discussing’ dinner arrangements for some time now while Zayn, sitting at the kitchen table, attempted to finish grading the short essay portion of the final his world history students had taken earlier that day. 

“Zayn,” Jo whinged, “tell Niall he’s being a stubborn ass.”

“Niall, you’re being a stubborn mule,” Zayn communicated obediently without looking up from the paper he was grading.  He didn’t really want to get involved in the lovers’ spat, but apparently, they weren’t leaving him much choice.

“I said stubborn _ass_ ,” Jo complained with a frustrated sigh.  “The meaning definitely got lost in translation.”

Niall laughed merrily at his girlfriend’s distress.  “Oh, don’t try to get Mister-Goody-Two-Shoes to swear,” he informed her.  “He’s _much_ too proper for that.”

Zayn set his pen down and peered straight at Niall across the room.  “Niall,” he declared loudly, “you’re being a stubborn ass.”  He couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit satisfied as his roommate’s jaw dropped and Jo burst into vindicated laughter.

“Stall the ball!” Niall exclaimed with mock horror.  “Did Zed just utter a rude word?  Is the sky falling?  Is the end of the world nigh?”

Zayn felt his cheeks blush at Niall’s ribbing.  “I was using ‘ass’ in the historical context, Ni.”

“Jaysus, he’s at it again!” Niall whistled.   “Just look at him effin’ and blindin’ over there!  Good thing his mum and dad aren’t around; it’d break their poor hearts,” he teased.  Zayn rolled his eyes as Niall cackled at his expense.  “Just taking the piss, Zed.”

“Maybe he’s grown a dark side,” Jo suggested, throwing a wink towards the kitchen table.  “New year, new Zayn, right?”

“It’s still December but that’s never gonna happen,” Niall told his girlfriend.  “Oi, Zed.  She’s the one corrupting you, isn’t she?  Perhaps I should think twice before dating older—”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Jo cut him off, a note of warning in her voice, “you should think twice before you finish that statement, Niall dear.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Niall agreed, smiling angelically at the pretty brunette, only a few years his senior.

“Perhaps you two should get a room,” Zayn mumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead and trying to remember where the heck he left off in his grading. 

“I heard that, Zed!”

“Sorry,” Zayn sighed, dragging his eyes away from the exam…again.  “No offence, but I think I might go to my room so you two can argue in peace.”

“No, don’t do that, Zayn,” Jo insisted, springing up from the couch.  “We were just leaving anyway.”  She put her hands on her hips and glared meaningfully down at her boyfriend.

Niall sunk deeper into the couch like a toddler.  “No, we weren’t.”  

“ _Yes_ , we were.”

“ _No_ , we weren’t.”

“Yes, _honey_ , we were,” Jo argued, kicking his foot with the toe of her shoe.  “I already made reservations and everything.”

“Cancel them,” Niall grumped, not budging an inch.

She rolled her eyes.  “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes—”

“Ni,” Zayn interrupted, before he went insane, “why don’t you just go wherever it is she wants to go?  It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Niall snorted.  “She made dinner plans with Louis Tomlinson, Zed.  What could possibly be worse than going out to eat with that obnoxious twat?”

 _“Niall!”_ Jo and Zayn chorused.

“Sorry not sorry.”

At least Zayn now knew what the point of contention was between the two lovebirds. He should have expected it had something to do with Louis because the naturally easy-going Niall only got like this when the drama teacher was brought up.

Jo shook her head.  “Can’t you see you’re acting just like him?” she commiserated.  “Louis is a great guy, and his fiancée, Eleanor, is super sweet.  Why don’t you give them a chance?” 

“Um…because he called my best mate a lying, power-hungry man-slag in front of the whole bleedin’ town?” Niall offered, and Zayn looked down at his keyboard, embarrassed by Niall’s bluntness.  “We’re talking about _Zayn_ , mind you.”  He thumbed back at his friend for emphasis.  “ _Zayn.”_  

Jo frowned. “Louis didn’t straight-out call Zayn those awful things.  He just…hinted at them,” she finished awkwardly, not looking at either of the two men.  “Besides, I’m sure he didn’t mean it like how it came out.”

Niall wasn’t impressed.  “He tell you that?”

“Well, no,” she admitted, “not exactly.”  She shot an apologetic glance in Zayn’s direction.  “You have to understand that Louis was upset about what happened between Harry and Zayn,” she explained.  “You know, the whole mentor thing.”

Niall narrowed his eyes.  “So I’m supposed to like Louis more because his best mate talks shit about Zed?  That it?”

“No, Harry hasn’t told him anything.  As a matter of fact,” Jo confided, “Harry hasn’t said a word to anyone, but, you know, people jump to conclusions….”

Yeah, Zayn definitely knew that.  He’d been on the butt-end of said conclusions several times now.

Jo took a deep breath.  “I’m sure he’s sorry.  You have to understand that he’s like a mama bear with Harry: Louis knows how important Harry’s position and reputation is to him, and he doesn’t want anything _or anyone_ to tarnish that.” 

Niall still didn’t say anything, so Zayn decided it was about time he did something to resolve the hostility that had clearly gotten out of hand.

“I understand,” Zayn said quietly, and they both looked over at him in surprise.  “You’re the same way with me, Ni.  You’d attack anyone you thought was a threat to me without a second thought.”

“Thank you, Zayn,” Jo said appreciatively, radiating relief.  “The last time I spoke with him, Louis told me he’s sorry the whole thing happened.”

“Bet he is,” Niall snorted.  “I’m sure he’s proper sorry he almost got sacked.”

“ _Niall_ ,” Jo said, exasperated.  “He’s trying, okay?  Sure, he made a few mistakes, but he’s _sorry_.  Look, even Zayn’s forgiven him, and maybe if you and Louis would stop taking sides, coming to the ‘rescue’ of your best friends like you’re the damn Jets and the Dolphins from _West Side Story_ , we all could get along a helluva lot better.”

“It was the Sharks, not the Dolphins,” Zayn corrected mechanically, “but otherwise, I think that’s a solid point.  Ni, what do you think?”

Niall didn’t answer for a while, just sat stock-still, a sullen expression frozen on his face.  Finally, he heaved himself up.  “Fine,” he grumped, “I’ll go tonight if that’s what you all want.  But let’s leave before I change my bleedin’ mind.”

 

***

 

Zayn went to bed directly after he finished grading his last final, so he didn’t hear anything about the dinner date until the next morning.  Even then, he got few details about the event from an unusually quiet Niall.  Well, except for one:

“He’s coming back,” Niall announced flatly as Zayn joined him at the kitchen table.  He sighed, then set his usual mug of steaming breakfast tea down as if it were too heavy for him to hold any longer.

“Who?” Zayn asked, brain still foggy from all the essays he’d read through last night.  Yawning, he grabbed a slice of buttered toast from the stack.  It was the last day of school before winter break, and it was almost as if his brain decided to go on holiday early.

Niall tilted his head. “Who d’ya think?”

“Oh.  Louis.”

“Can’t reckon what possessed Dr. Payne to give that chancer his job back,” Niall said, and Zayn tried not to look too incredibly guilty as he reached for the teapot.  “He’s a bad one, that Tomlinson.  Payne must’ve lost the plot or something.”  Niall sat there shaking his head in wonderment.  “Oi, Payne’s your mentor, Zed.  Any thoughts as to why he changed his mind all of a sudden?”

“Ch-changed his mind?” Zayn sputtered.  Suddenly, his left hand felt as if it were on fire, and Zayn realised he was pouring the scalding liquid directly onto his hand.  He quickly set the teapot down.  Then shakily, he examined the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger to find it had turned an angry red. 

Niall quickly took charge, attending to the burn—something he was more than used to in his chosen profession—while Zayn kept mumbling out apologies.  Niall waved them all off, telling Zayn to finish getting ready while he cleaned up the mess. 

Zayn was grateful when they were finally on the road and both their apartment building and breakfast were behind them.

Or so he thought.

“Zed,” Niall began hesitantly, driving carefully along the snowy roads, “that look on your face just before you spilt the tea...” 

“I don’t know any ‘tea’ to spill,” Zayn quipped, congratulating himself on dodging the topic.  He turned the heat up a couple of notches—not because he was necessarily cold but because it made it harder to converse.

Niall laughed.  “Nice one.  And yeah, Tomlinson’s probably the one with all the tea.”

 _…And your girlfriend_ , Zayn thought because well, it was the truth.  Jo was a notorious gossip—not that she had malicious intentions or anything, but the fact remained that she liked to talk.  A lot.

Niall turned the heat down one click.  “Earlier, I was just asking if Dr. Payne had hinted anything about Tomlinson’s return.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were asking.”  Zayn felt the knot in his stomach tighten.

“Well, did he?”  

“Umm….”  Zayn pretended to think.  There was no way he could tell his friend what really happened, that he had asked Dr. Payne to reconsider giving Louis his job back as a personal favour to him.  Niall wouldn’t understand why he did it.  (Zayn barely understood why he did it himself.)

“Zed, quit chewing on your nails.”

Zayn dropped his hands into his lap.  “Sorry.”

“Is there something bothering you?” Niall asked, rightfully miffed.  “You’ve been acting strange all morning.”  But before Zayn could reply, Niall answered his own question.  “Ah, I bet you’re stressed because it’s the last day of the semester, eh?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” Zayn agreed quickly.  “Oh, and Dr. Payne—he didn’t bring Louis up,” Zayn said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.  After all, Dr. Payne _hadn’t_ brought the topic up.  Zayn had.

Instinctively, Zayn knew Niall would have a fit if he knew the truth.  And after all the bad blood between those two, Zayn honestly couldn’t blame him.

 

***

 

The last day of school began as expected—slow.  There were no students since it was a teacher work day, and the hallowed halls of Payne Academy were quiet, almost sombre.  Zayn had finished grading the last set of exams the previous night, so it didn’t take him long to enter everything into his electronic record book and submit final grades.

Another reason the morning dragged along was Dr. Payne.  In a Grinch-like move, the principal had discouraged all forms of celebration (because according to him, the preliminary winter testing data indicated they had very little to rejoice about).  Moreover, without the head of the social committee—the absent, but still somehow ever-present Louis Tomlinson—no one had stepped up to take on the responsibility of planning a staff holiday party.

Candidly, Zayn didn’t mind the lack of festivities.  He’d never been good at social events anyway, and he still didn’t have many friends in the school outside of Niall, Ed, and maybe Jo.  Besides, it meant he could do some advance planning for next semester, and he embraced the opportunity to have some blissfully uninterrupted work time.

A little after noon, Niall sent a text to Zayn and Ed, suggesting they eat lunch in his room.  Zayn quickly wrapped up what he was working on, then trotted down the stairs to the culinary classroom. 

It was past one by the time he got back upstairs.  To his surprise, he found a neatly-wrapped present sitting on his desk when he entered his room.  He explored every inch of his desk but couldn’t find a card or tag indicating who the mysterious package was from.  Zayn undid the sapphire-coloured ribbon, removed the the reindeer-themed wrapping paper, and lifted the lid off the gift box.  Inside, lay a shiny silver plaque engraved with a familiar quote:

 

**“Love all,**

**Trust a few.**

**Do wrong to none.”**

~William Shakespeare _,_

_All’s Well That Ends Well_

 

As Zayn lifted the plaque from its bed of tissue paper, a piece of stationery fluttered out.  He carefully set the plaque on his desk, then read the enclosed note.

 

> _Zayn,_
> 
> _I know you fancied this quotation when you saw it in my classroom, and I hope you will be able to find a place for it in yours. I sincerely apologise for not being the mentor you needed, but please never hesitate to ask if you ever need guidance or advice. I hope one day that I will, once again, be included in the chosen ‘few’ you trust._
> 
> _Congratulations on a great first semester. Be proud of all you and your students have accomplished._
> 
> _Happy holidays,_
> 
> _-H._

 

Zayn set the plaque on its stand, then slid it to a prominent place on his desk where it could be seen both from where he was sitting and from the door.  He gazed at it for a long time, recalling what Jo had shared with him at Espresso Expresso about how Harry no longer hated him (if the English teacher ever in fact hated him).  Absently, he wondered if Harry had discovered Zayn had gone to bat for his best friend, if that could be the reason Harry had gotten him such a beautiful gift.  But then, Zayn figured that was highly unlikely.  Dr. Payne would rather swim with a school of piranhas than give the appearance he was weak or easily influenced. 

It occurred to him that he should probably thank Harry for his gift.  Zayn _had_ left a card in Harry’s mailbox that morning—an impersonal, generic greeting card similar to the one he left in his department chair Mr. Franklin’s box—but it paled in comparison to the personalised, thoughtful present from his former mentor.  Unfortunately, when Zayn arrived next door, Harry’s door was locked, his classroom lights were off, and the English teacher was nowhere to be seen.

Now, he’d have to wait two weeks to thank Harry for his unexpected gift.

Zayn went back to his classroom.  He scanned the room for a project to occupy his mind until it was time to leave and decided to reorganise his bookshelf.  He set to work and was about halfway through when he decided his files could use some reorganisation as well.  Switching gears, he emptied his file cabinet when his phone buzzed on his desk.

 

> _Niall:  Just found out teachers are only contracted until 1 today ha!_
> 
> _Me:  Who told you?_
> 
> _Niall:  Jo. Ed forgot too_
> 
> _Me:  No wonder the hallways are deserted, lol._
> 
> _Niall:  Yeah, since its 2 I thought I’d pick up those things we needed for the trip back home tomorrow. You ready to leave or you want me to pick you up later?_
> 
> _Me:  Later. I literally just dumped all my file cabinets out._
> 
> _Niall:  Need help?_
> 
> _Me:  No, I’m good. Thanks, Ni._
> 
> _Niall:  I’ll text you when I’m done :)_

It didn’t take Zayn as long to complete the project as he thought it would.  Soon, everything had found a place, and with time to spare.  That’s when he remembered he still had one more card to drop off for a person who didn’t have a mailbox, and he couldn’t really procrastinate any longer.  He grabbed the red envelope with the lengthy message inside and made the familiar trek down to the office.

 

***

 

(Liam’s POV)

 

Liam glanced at the clock:  fifteen hundred hours.  Of course, one would never know it was in the middle of the afternoon on a work day with how pathetically uninhabited the school building was.  Leave it to the Board to grant the teachers something wholly unnecessary like a ‘Leave Early’ day right before a bloody holiday.  Even Miss Hart had joined the mass exodus although he was fairly sure she was contracted to work her usual hours.  He scribbled a reminder to himself to check up on that at his first opportunity.  Liam ran a tight ship, and the minute one allowed a single thing to slide, the next thing one knew the whole bloody ship was sinking.

With a drawn-out sigh, Liam looked up from the agendum he was tweaking.  He decided he might as well abandon work for the day.  After all, everyone else had.  Besides, he had the luxury of coming in any time he wanted over the break. 

_Yet another perk of being the man in charge._

Suddenly, Liam heard a knocking at the main office door.  Intrigued, he wandered into the outer office to discover who was still inside the building.    

He smiled to himself when he saw it was Zayn.

It was satisfying to know that his mentee had such a good work ethic.  Even Harry had left early in order to catch a flight back home or some such rubbish.  Liam didn’t pay much attention to the personal lives of his teachers, and he paid even less attention to his own.  Personal lives just interfered with professional responsibilities.

 _Unless_ , that is, one strategically combined both.  Then, allowances could be made.

Liam unlocked the door.  “Come right in, Mr. Malik.”  He led the way into his office, then closed the door behind them out of habit.  “What did you wish to see me about?”

“I just wanted to…well, thank you for all your time and help this semester,” Zayn stated softly, running a nervous hand through his black hair.  He quickly snatched his hand back, wincing a little as he examined it.

“Something the matter with your hand, Mr. Malik?”

“Burnt it this morning,” Zayn explained sheepishly, “with tea of all things.”

“You want watching, Mr. Malik.” 

“Yes, probably,” Zayn admitted, and Liam had to press his lips together in order not to smile.  Then, like a young colt who looked as though he might spook at any moment, Zayn lifted his other hand which was clutching a red envelope.  “Again, thank you, sir,” he stated, handing Liam the envelope.

“Thank _you_ , Mr. Malik,” Liam simpered as he placed it on his desk.  “But believe me, the pleasure has been _all_ mine.”  Zayn smiled shyly back at him, and Liam had to hide his amusement.  It was so easy to toy with the young teacher.  It almost made him regret that their unofficial cat-and-mouse game would soon be coming to an end.

“Happy holidays, sir,” Zayn wished him before making a move to leave.

“Before you go—”

“Yes?”  The young teacher gazed inquisitively back at him with those doe-like eyes of his.

“I have one more pearl of wisdom to offer you, Mr. Malik,” Liam disclosed.  “There is also a certain matter I’d like to discuss with you.  Please have a seat.”

“Yes, Dr. Payne,” he submitted, taking his usual chair.

Liam waited until he was settled.  “’He who refuses to embrace a unique opportunity loses the prize as surely as if he had failed,’” he quoted.  “William James, philosopher.”  Zayn seemed to mull the words over in his head, chewing on his lower lip.  “Tell me your interpretation of the quotation, Mr. Malik,” he urged, joining his mentee at the hexagon table.

“I-I think it means you should be ready and willing to make the most of a special situation when it occurs because if you don’t, it’s like you’ve lost something?” 

“Very good,” Liam praised him.  “As usual, you are correct—one should always be ‘ready and willing.’  And now for the matter I wanted to address with you.”  Liam took a deep breath in, well aware he was about to tread on choppy waters.  “Mr. Malik, I do not feel it is appropriate for you to invite certain members of the faculty into your classroom—especially when they have no cause to enter your classroom in the first place.”

“What are you referring to, sir?” Zayn asked, biting on his lip in a way that made Liam want to go easier on him…or harder, perhaps.

 _Much_ harder.

“Dr. Payne?”

Liam composed himself; it was essential he stay focused, committed.  “I am referring, Mr. Malik, to the other day when Mr. Sheeran was in your classroom for over an hour…with the door closed…after school hours.  Unless, of course, there are numerous other occasions I am unfamiliar with?” Liam added sarcastically.

“But…but Mr. Horan has been in my classroom countless times with the door closed,” Zayn appealed almost desperately.  “Mr. Styles, as well.  I don’t see what the difference is—”

“The _difference_ is that Mr. Sheeran’s intentions are not quite so innocent as those of Mr. Horan or Mr. Styles.  Moreover, I believe we have discussed this matter at length on a previous occasion.  Am I wrong, Mr. Malik?”  Reluctantly, the history teacher shook his head.  “Now, Mr. Malik, what was my directive in regards to inter-faculty relationships?”

“They shouldn’t exist,” he returned obediently.

“That is correct,” Liam approved.  “And what were my specific instructions regarding your interactions with Ed Sheeran, in particular?”

“That I should conduct myself in an appropriate, professional manner,” Zayn mumbled.

“Since it is clear that you’ve demonstrated a blatant disregard for these simple requests, I believe that a disciplinary action is required to prevent similar reoccurrences.”

“But sir—”

“Please stand, Mr. Malik,” Liam directed, cutting all protestations short, “over there, by the bookcase.”  Zayn did so, a question in his eyes—a question Liam wasn’t about to answer, not yet.  Liam followed him, clicking off the lamp on his desk as he skulked to within inches of where the young teacher stood, the very picture of ‘fear and trembling.’

Slowly, Liam lifted his hand to the boy’s beautiful face and traced over Zayn’s plump bottom lip with an index finger.  Zayn flinched, and Liam could tell he was about to draw back.  “Don’t move,” Liam growled harshly.  Zayn obeyed like the perfect submissive Liam always imagined him to be.  The boy’s doe eyes widened as his chest rose and fell rapidly. 

It was then Liam knew he was well and truly fucked.

It was also then that he somewhat remembered himself.  Liam hadn’t meant to go this far with the punishment, had only meant to communicate his displeasure about the Sheeran matter to his mentee, to ensure nothing like that happened again.  But like a boulder tumbling down a hill, gravity and other forces beyond his control were taking over.

He would give the young teacher one last chance, but after that, whatever happened was no longer on his conscience.

“Mr. Malik, you may walk out of here if you believe you don’t deserve the punishment you are about to receive,” Liam said hoarsely, “that is, if you honestly believe you did not understand my direct orders regarding Mr. Sheeran.”  Liam waited after that, finger pressed to the dimple below Zayn’s lower lip, but the boy didn’t budge (even though he probably should have).

Zayn’s lips parted ever-so-slightly then, and Liam took full advantage, dipping his finger between them.  The young teacher’s tongue brushed clumsily over the invading foreign object, coating it with warm, wet saliva.

“Suck,” Liam ordered, his voice coming out in a strained whisper.  He had waited so long for this moment.  So very, _very_ long.

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

(Zayn’s POV)

 

“ _Suck_ ,” Dr. Payne repeated more urgently, and as if in a trance, Zayn followed his principal’s bidding.  It was as if his body craved this, as if his entire existence depended on it.

Inexplicably, the more Zayn sucked, the more he began to feel something down _there_.  He longed to touch himself even though he knew it was wrong, even though he knew he shouldn’t. 

“Always suspected you had an oral fixation,” Dr. Payne murmured—approving, smug.  “You’re constantly biting your lip, your fingernails.  Bet you smoke, too…on occasion,” he drawled, slowly guiding his long digit in and out of Zayn’s mouth in a way that felt obscene.  Zayn’s eyelashes fluttered as Dr. Payne gazed down at him with hooded eyes, the man’s free hand caressing his hollowed cheek.  “Bet you smoke when no one else is looking.  Bet you do a lot of things when no one else is looking—am I right, Mr. Malik?”

It was then Zayn awoke from the spell he’d been under.  He pressed his hands flat against his principal’s chest and pushed.  Dr. Payne must have gotten the message because his finger immediately slipped from Zayn’s mouth, and he took a step back.

Then the office was silent, and that silence was deafening.

Zayn stared into dark brown orbs, but they were devoid of sympathy.  They were devoid of all emotions except lust and a single-minded purpose.  “Sir, please…,” he whimpered.  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Before he knew what was happening, Dr. Payne had carouselled him around, backing him up against the wall.  “Look in my eyes and tell me you didn’t directly go against my orders,” the man growled.

And well, Zayn couldn’t do that.

“My dear boy,” Dr. Payne sighed, head falling against Zayn’s neck, “why do you insist on disobeying me when we both know Daddy knows best?”  Dr. Payne pressed against him then, his principal’s larger, more muscular frame effectively trapping Zayn in the vertex between the wall and bookcase.  Fingers flirted with the hem of Zayn’s long sweater before inching the light wool material upwards.  Zayn felt a cold rush of air before two fingers—one, still wet with his own saliva—clamped onto his left nipple.

Zayn nearly collapsed from the shock, from the sudden, intense pressure.  “What…what are you doing?” he gasped.  His body went rigid, causing the slight discomfort to sharpen.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

The question was calm, clinical.  It was a direct contrast to the way Zayn was feeling—a frenetic, feverish mess.  Zayn wanted to reply ‘yes.’  He didn’t know why he _didn’t_ reply ‘yes.’  Seconds raced by, and then Dr. Payne twisted the sensitive nub, sending shockwaves throughout his entire system.  He grunted as the pain started to transform into…something else.

“What was that, Mr. Malik?” Dr. Payne taunted almost merrily.  “Cat got your tongue again?”

The very next moment, Zayn felt a sharp sting rip through him as a fingernail dug into the tender flesh.  The pain was quickly erased as the man’s thumb brushed softly over the abused nipple.  When Dr. Payne repeated the action, Zayn couldn’t stop his hips from bucking forward even though they had nowhere to go.  

“You’re so responsive,” Dr. Payne murmured appreciatively.  “So responsive and so incredibly, deliciously innocent.”  His principal continued to pinch and tease, watching him with dark, hungry eyes.  “I bet no one’s even touched you like this before, have they?”

“N-no,” Zayn stuttered out.  He could feel a sheen of sweat covering his entire body now as he tried to control the betraying movement of his hips.

Dr. Payne leaned closer.  “If you ask nicely,” he hissed in Zayn’s ear, “Daddy may keep the punishment to one nipple today.”

“P-please, sir.”

“Try again,” Dr. Payne dismissed, rolling the now _too_ -sensitive nipple between his fingers as Zayn’s hips bucked forward again helplessly.  “Remember the exercise, Mr. Malik,” he reprimanded, “the exercise in discipline.” 

A million different thoughts rushed through Zayn’s head.  “I don’t know.  I-I can’t think.”  He closed his eyes, willing his body to keep still.  Then suddenly, he knew what the man wanted to hear.  “Please Daddy…please no more,” he pleaded, and miraculously, it worked.

“Have I mentioned how much I love it when you beg?” Dr. Payne groaned, pulling himself away.  “Daddy would do nearly anything for his good boy when he begs like that.”

Zayn began trembling then, and it was as if he couldn’t stop, as if he’d never be able to stop.

“Shhh, it’s okay, my little one—Daddy’s got you,” his principal murmured, tipping Zayn’s chin up to place a few open-mouthed kisses against his clammy skin. 

Zayn wilted against the wall and tried to pull himself together.  He took a few deep breaths and pressed the heel of his palms against his damp eyes.

“There, there…it’s over,” Dr. Payne cooed.  “You took your first punishment so well, baby; you did so well.” 

Zayn couldn’t believe his ears.  He couldn’t believe his principal actually thought that whatever it was that just happened was an appropriate disciplinary action.

“Sorry to leave you without a happy ending,” Dr. Payne simpered, glancing down at the bulge in Zayn’s trousers, “but this _is_ a punishment, Mr. Malik.  Furthermore, I can assure you I am in just as uncomfortable a situation as you are at the present moment.”

Completely mortified, Zayn covered himself with both hands.  Reflexively, his gaze dropped down to his principal’s crouch, and he nearly gasped at the massive outline stretching the front of the man’s trousers.  It was obscene, and yet Zayn couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop wondering what—

“Don’t get too excited, Mr. Malik,” the man chuckled, mistaking Zayn’s horror for something else.  “You’ll have to wait until after Christmas for that particular present.  But don’t worry, when it comes,” he added with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “it’ll be a huge surprise that will be worth the wait—I promise you that.” 

Zayn’s jaw dropped at the crude remarks, but his principal just sauntered back to his desk chair. 

“Now take a moment to fix yourself up,” Dr. Payne directed, “and then you may leave.  I have other, er, pressing business to attend to.”

Zayn wanted to say something.  He wanted to confront the man, to scream and yell until his lips bled, but more than that, he just wanted to get out of there before his principal got any other ideas.

“Oh, and as usual,” Dr. Payne declared darkly as Zayn stumbled towards the door, “this stays between us.”

Zayn halted in his tracks but didn’t turn around.  “No,” he replied staunchly.

The air turned to ice.  “I think you may want to reconsider, Mr. Malik.”  There was a movement behind him before hands gripped his waist; Zayn could feel the power and unleashed fury coursing through his body.  “You don’t want to do anything rash, anything that might adversely affect your future here.”

“Are you threatening me, sir?” Zayn demanded, false courage in the form of adrenaline emboldening him.

“Of course not.  I’m merely trying to prevent you from tossing away a very promising career, Mr. Malik.”  The man’s grip tightened before eventually loosening and falling away.  “We will discuss this… _arrangement_ more in-depth when you return after break,” he continued, voice soothing again.  “We’ll have a proper sit-down then, and all of this will make much more sense.” 

Dr. Payne gently tucked a piece of Zayn’s hair behind his ear.  “Now, as I was saying…you _will_ keep this between us for now—won’t you, Mr. Malik?”

“Yes, sir,” Zayn answered softly.  Then still shaking, he fled that hellish place as fast as his feet would carry him. 

 

***

 

Niall and Zayn packed up the car for the winter holiday and left Wisteria Falls the next morning.  During the entire drive home, Zayn grieved.

He grieved for his loss of innocence—not for his sexual innocence which was still intact (at the moment anyway).  Rather, he wept for the destruction of everything he held dear: teaching as the noblest of professions, the goodness in others, trust in authority, the school as a temple….

In the blink of an eye, the world seemed infinitely uglier.  He suddenly understood a multitude of things—truths he hadn’t fully grasped (or refused to grasp) before.  Yes, it all made sense now, from the unorthodox mentoring exercises to the outrageous constraints on how he dressed and who he spent time with.

Zayn had been so gullible, so trusting, so conscientious and willing to please.  He had done nearly everything his principal had asked of him without question, and now…

Now it had all come to _this_.

And there was no way in hell Zayn could ever go back to Payne Academy.

 

***

 

As was tradition, Zayn and his parents had been invited over to the Horans for Christmas dinner.  As expected, Niall had done most of the cooking, pushing everyone else out of the kitchen or relegating them to sous chef duties (Niall’s mum included).  It was probably for the best since the meal was cooked to perfection—well, according to everyone else at the table.  For Zayn, he hardly tasted a morsel.  In fact, he had a difficult time keeping up with the conversation—not that anyone appeared to notice.  He was quiet by nature, a sharp contrast to the gregarious bunch seated around the table, and so the conversation flowed on just fine without him. 

As soon as dinner ended, Niall’s dad went to search for some sports game on the television.  Niall invited Zayn up to his bedroom, and Zayn’s dad and Niall’s mom exchanged a knowing smile.  Zayn’s mother, on the other hand, had quite the opposite reaction:

“Zayn honey, make sure you boys keep the door open.”

“Uhh…sure, Mrs. Malik,” Niall returned.

“Mom, I’ve been in Niall’s bedroom a thousand times,” Zayn griped, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  “Why are you wanting the door open all of a sudden?”  His mom was taken aback by the small act of defiance, but Zayn didn’t apologise like he might have done before.  He was sick and tired of people making up senseless rules, constantly telling him what to do. 

“Yes, honey, but it’s…different now,” she explained hesitantly, and all of a sudden, Zayn was starting to regret coming out to his parents the first day he got home.  “You’re both grown, and Niall is….”  She looked at her husband for help.

“Yes?” Niall’s mom pressed, amused.  “What _is_ Niall, Trisha?”

“Well…Niall’s a _man_ ,” she finished in a hushed voice.  More than one person at the table snorted in response.

“I think that’s a matter up for debate,” Zayn deadpanned.

“Oi!” Niall laughed, tickling him in the side.  Zayn shoved him back, and pretty soon they were tussling back and forth, nearly falling out of their chairs before they remembered they were at Christmas dinner with their parents.

“Trisha,” Zayn’s father started, shaking his head at his wife.  “They’re both adults _and_ they share an apartment together, for Pete’s sake.  If anything was going to happen, it would have already happened.”  Both he and Moira looked at the boys expectantly, as if they were hoping a confession would result from Yaser’s words.  (It didn’t.)

“So,” Zayn’s mom said crossly, glaring at her husband, “you’re saying that it’s completely appropriate for our son to be in a man’s bedroom— _with the door closed_?” 

“Well, it’s not like one of them’s going to get preggers,” Moira joked.

Wisely, Niall and him managed to duck out of the dining room soon after. 

 

***

 

An hour later they were lounged on Niall’s bed in his room—Niall’s _old_ room.  Not a whole lot had changed since they had left.  Zayn embraced the warm familiarity: kelly green walls smothered by posters, dog-eared cookbooks stacked on the oak bookshelf Zayn’s father had built, dirty laundry piled in one corner and a half-strung acoustic in another.

Zayn grew wistful.  He wished he could go back to August, back to the way it was before they had left for Payne Academy.  He wished everything in their lives had remained as unchanged as Niall’s bedroom.

But it hadn’t.  And the cold, hard truth was that nothing would ever be the same again.

That revelation hurt.  It hurt more than the actions of his principal.  It hurt more than the cruel whispers in the hallways and faculty lounge.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried hard not to cry.

“Talk to me, Zed.”

Zayn bit his lip and blinked away the tears forming in his eyes.  “Nothing.  It’s…nothing,” he repeated as if trying to convince himself.

Niall put his phone down and stared at him from where he was sat on the bed.  “What is it?”

“Ni, what would you say if I told you”—he took a deep breath—“that I’m thinking of not returning next semester?”

“Nice one,” Niall chuckled.  “No, really—tell me what you were going to say because who knows when your mum’s going to break down the door to stop me from having my way with ya.”

Zayn didn’t respond.  All he could think about was Dr. Payne, of what the man might do if he ‘had his way’ with Zayn, of how close Zayn had come to _letting_ the principal have his way with him….

“Zed, you feeling poorly?” Niall questioned.  “Is it that crud that was going around school?  You got a bad dose of it or something?”

“No, I’m fine,” Zayn insisted, sitting up and resting his back against the headboard.  “And I wasn’t joking; I’m really thinking about not returning to Payne.”

“What are you going on about then?”

“I just told you, Ni.”

“Bollocks.  What you just told me was some drivel about packing it in mid-year.”

Zayn sighed as he studied his hands, hoping they somehow held answers to impossible questions.  “Why shouldn’t I?”

Niall made a couple of flustered sounds.  “Because it’s not ‘you’ to quit on things,” he said at last.  “Because this gig is what you’ve always wanted, Zed.  I can remember you going on about how you wanted to become a teacher and ‘make a difference’ back when we were kids!”

“What if…what if I don’t want that anymore?” Zayn asked, voice cracking as he finally looked at his friend beside him—his very best friend. 

Niall slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side.  “Don’t think about school for now, yeah?  I get that you’ve been bogged down lately, but things will look different in a couple of days.  Just give it some time, yeah?”

 

***

 

But things didn’t look any different in a couple of days.

If anything, Zayn dreaded returning to Payne Academy more than ever, for even though he was miles away from _him_ , Zayn still felt like his principal held control over him.  He was torn between telling Niall everything that had gone on during the so-called ‘mentoring sessions’ and keeping his promise to Dr. Payne.  The thing that truly prevented Zayn from confiding in his friend, however, was the fact that he didn’t understand why he had acted the way he did.  Dr. Payne had told him he could leave, and yet, _he didn’t_.  Zayn stayed. 

Zayn stayed, and he still couldn’t figure out why.

“Alright, come out with it, Zed,” Niall demanded, taking a break from sorting through papers to get on Zayn’s case.  It was two days before they were supposed to return to Wisteria Falls, and Zayn was helping his friend clean out his bedroom, something that hadn’t been done properly for years.  The goal was to gather as many items together as possible to discard or donate to local charities, but this was easier said than done.  Niall insisted that every book, every CD, and every article of clothing were “essential,” and Zayn had gotten distracted, hopelessly lost in his thoughts more than once.

“Come out with what, Ni?” Zayn asked nonchalantly.  He went back to what he was doing, attempting to place a cracked, teal-glazed pot Niall had made in a pottery class in the trash. 

“Oi, you can’t put that in the bin!”

“Niall,” Zayn sighed, trying to be as patient as he could because he understood the need to hang on to the past all too well.  Still, there were limits, and a broken, dusty piece of pottery from middle school challenged those limits.  “The thing’s cracked all the way up one side, chipped in several places, and it wasn’t even one of your favourite pieces to begin with,” Zayn reasoned but Niall wasn’t having it.

“Yes, but you can’t just pitch it like that!” Niall objected hotly, taking the pot from him and setting it back on the shelf as if it were a trophy.  “Sure it’s banjaxed.  Sure it’s uglier than Tomlinson’s soul, but it’s got sentimental value.”

“Fine, I don’t give a crap whether you keep it or not,” Zayn huffed, suddenly irritated.  He ignored the pot and his best friend and started piling random books onto the crook of his arm.  Just when he’d gathered a good amount, the tall stack was snatched from him and dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. 

Zayn glared at him.  “I was sorting those!”

“Talk,” Niall ordered, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made him look formidable even though Zayn easily had a couple of inches on his friend.  “We’re not leaving here until you give me a proper explanation for the way you’ve been acting.”

Zayn moved a few books and plopped down on an open space on the bed.  “It’s…Dr. Payne.  He’s just....”  Zayn exhaled loudly, searching his mind for the right way to say it without revealing too much.  “He’s just really tough on me, that’s all.”  He cringed at his own words, at the way he sounded like a whiny toddler who didn’t get his way.  “I just feel a ton of pressure from him, and…and I feel like everyone at school hates me,” he added glumly.

“Zed, I thought we went through all of this before.  Don’t take everything he says so personal, yeah?”  Niall cleared his own spot on the bed before sitting beside his friend and punching him affectionately in the side.  “And everyone doesn’t hate you, bro.  I like you; Ed likes you; Jo likes you; and your students like you.  I’m sure the rest of the staff will warm up to you if you let them see the real you, let loose a little.”

Zayn definitely wasn’t convinced.  “You think so?”

“I’m dead certain but let’s move on to Dr. Payne.  I’m guessing he’s the real reason behind all this?” 

At first Zayn was startled by his words.  On closer inspection of his friend’s unruffled expression, however, he could tell Niall didn’t know the whole truth.  If he had, he wouldn’t be wearing that sympathetic half-smile on his face. 

“What about Dr. Payne?” Zayn asked in a small voice.

“You need to quit putting so much bloody weight on his opinion,” Niall advised.  “You just can’t please some people.  Just toe the line, do everything the gaffer asks you to do, and leave off trying to get him to like you.” 

Zayn nodded slowly because his reasoning was sound—well, except the part about doing everything Dr. Payne asked him to do.  Niall would have a heart attack if he knew exactly what had been going on behind closed doors.  “I know,” Zayn responded finally.  “It’s just that I feel so alone sometimes, and Dr. Payne…he scares me, I guess.”

“He scares _everyone_ , Zed.  Harry Styles almost pissed himself the other day when Dr. Payne shouted his name in the hall, and Harry’s like the man’s…shite, what’s his name again?”

“Who?” 

“That bloke from Shakespeare,” Niall replied, scratching his head.  “Y’know, the evil henchman who’s jealous of Othello?  He tells Othello that his wife’s shagging some other dude even though she isn’t.”

Zayn couldn’t help but smile as he asked, “Iago?”

“Yep, that’s the one!  Harry is Payne’s Iago.”

Zayn furrowed his brow.  “Niall, Harry’s nothing like that.  He actually respects Dr. Payne from what I can tell.  Besides, Harry may have made the mistake about the mentoring thing, but he’d _never_ do something deliberately treacherous or underhanded like planting evidence or making up stories about people.”

“Well, Tomlinson would, the chancer,” Niall snorted.  “As a matter of fact, that’s the play he’s supposedly chosen for the spring production.”

“A-ha!  _Now_ I get why you’ve got _Othello_ on the brain,” Zayn chuckled, forgetting his troubles for a moment.  “How’d you know that _Othello_ was the next production anyway?  I haven’t seen an announcement about it anywhere.”

“Jo told me.”

Zayn resisted making a snide comment; he probably should’ve deduced that one.  “Anyway, evil plots like that only happen in Shakespeare, Niall.  A person wouldn’t go to those extreme lengths to make it look like some illicit affair is occurring right under everybody’s noses just because they’ve been overlooked for a promotion or whatever.  That just doesn’t happen.”

Niall raised an eyebrow.  “You sure about that, Zed?”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “In any case, Harry isn’t like that,” he stated emphatically.  “Take his present, for example.  The plaque was so incredibly thoughtful and just shows what kind of person he is.”

“Plaque?”

It was then Zayn remembered he’d forgotten to tell Niall about Harry’s present before they left.  In all fairness, Zayn hadn’t been in the best state of mind after everything that went down with Dr. Payne.  “Crap, I forgot to tell you.  Harry, got me this wicked plaque with a quote from Shakespeare, the same one he has in his classroom.  Remind me to show it to you when we get back.  Anyway, he sent a really nice card with it and apologised for everything.”

Niall had never been too keen on Harry Styles for some reason and hearing about the gift apparently hadn’t changed his opinion of the man.  Then again, Niall hadn’t read the letter like Zayn had, hadn’t witnessed that there was more hurt and regret in the English teacher’s eyes over the past several weeks than anger. 

Niall rubbed the back of his neck.  “Look, I’m not going to say another word against Harry because I can see you’re dead set on giving him another chance.  And if nothing else,” he observed wryly, “getting back in the good graces of the Prince of Payne can only help your reputation among the faculty.”

Zayn hated to admit it, but in a pragmatic sort of way, Niall had a point.

“Still,” Niall cautioned, “I’d be careful around Harry Styles.”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “What is it you’ve got against Harry anyway?” 

“Well, you have to admit he mucks about with a questionable crowd.”

“If you mean Louis, then I’m not going to argue with you,” Zayn granted, thumbing absently through one of the books beside him.  “Then again, if we’re going to blackball people based on whether they’re friends with Louis Tomlinson, we could start with your girlfriend,” Zayn pointed out a little snarkily.

“Alright then.  How about Dr. Payne?” Niall offered up.  “You said yourself Harry and Payne are thick as thieves, and I’m not sure how anyone could be mates with someone like Liam Payne.”

“You can’t,” Zayn answered without thinking.  “He’s a monster.”  Zayn pushed away his black thoughts because now Niall was staring back at him with a curious expression.  “I just think they, like, understand each other and that there’s a certain level of mutual respect.”

“I can’t believe I’m suggesting this,” Niall began, shaking his head, “but why don’t you talk to Harry about all this?  He might be able to give you some insights on how to deal with Dr. Payne.”

Zayn thought about it, and the more he did, the better the idea sounded.  “Yeah…think maybe I’ll try that.”

“Good.  And keep in mind that we’re already halfway through the school year,” Niall stated, trying to cheer him up.  “In six months, we can do whatever we bloody want.  Dr. Payne will have signed off on us, and we’ll have full teaching certificates.  The world will be ours, mate.”

“Six months…,” Zayn mumbled to himself.  It seemed like a prison sentence. 

And the way things were going, it would be a miracle if he got through the remainder of the school year unscathed. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this story had over 500 kudos, and I tried to get this chapter out as fast as I could because OMG WOW. I had a small health setback in December, so I'm still trying to finish up my other wip (Money Moves). I also have one other writing commitment, but after that, I'm hoping I'll be able to do planned, regular updates for this. Btw, if you have any questions on updates, etc., shoot me an ask on tumblr. I tend to get to those faster. xx
> 
> Side note: I Inserted "Zayn's POV" at the beginning of the chapter because there was a sharp shift in POV in the middle of the scene (from the last chapter to this one), and I didn't want to throw anyone off. Know that it's always Zayn's POV unless otherwise specified. ;)
> 
> Much love and hope 2019 is treating you well. Cheers for now! ~Maree xx

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr: [zqua1d](http://www.zqua1d.tumblr.com/)


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